The Pyrrhic Clause
by SirPapillon
Summary: After a drunk night and a murder, painful memories of Somalia resurface for Gibbs & Co. Can they they deal with the emotional repercussions and catch the murderer, or will the situation cause them to turn on each other?  First fanfic ever!
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**Please Review (not just fishing, want to know if i'm doing this right)  
><strong>

**I hope you enjoy!**

**P.S. I DO NOT OWN NCIS, OR ITS CHARACTERS. (quite sad, really)  
><strong>

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><p>A <strong>Pyrrhic<strong>** Victory** (/ˈpɪrɪk/) is a victory with such a devastating cost to the victor that it carries the implication that another such victory will ultimately cause defeat.

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><p><strong>The Pyrrhic Clause<strong>

The young man stared at the page that sat uncomfortably in the typewriter. Blank. Rain pattered loudly upon the roof, the way the keys should sound. Nothing. He looked up at the clock on the wall, then turned to his phone, having long forgotten how to read analog. His phone read 9:45 pm, Saturday night. He sighed softly to himself, feeling a familiar twang of shame spread quickly through his chest.

He knew the feeling well. He felt it almost weekly, as he would attempt to write, or read a book, or idly watch television, having not received a call regarding weekend festivities with friends. He thought that once he got out of MIT, having landed the job at NCIS, that the time of lonely weekends would be over. _Guess __I __was __wrong. __Again._ He thought to himself. He stood, pushing his desk chair back slowly; Jethro, who had been lying quietly behind him stood in similar fashion as his master. The dog looked up at his owner, trying to understand the discouragement in his master's eyes, as only a dog could.

"I don't get it Jethro. I mean, I do. I'm… Probie. McGeek. I guess I don't have too much value in the 'hang out' department. I'm just Probalicious". Tim chuckled softly, thinking of Tony whenever he'd call him that. He had thought, after the years of having each others backs… Tim stopped, not continuing the thought.

He walked slowly into the bathroom and stepped in front of the mirror, taking off the MIT shirt he wore. He stared intently at himself. He was impressed. He had come along way from the earlier years at NCIS. Aesthetically speaking. He had a slim build, but muscle shone through his pale skin. He needed the ego boost at the moment. He sighed again, then silently cursed himself for sighing so much. He promptly put his shirt back on, and headed to his record player, restarting 'Kind of Blue' by Miles Davis. Just as the sad and wandering notes began, his cell phone rang.

"McGee"

"Proooooooobie! Where are you!" Tony yelled into the phone.

Tim could hear loud conversation and music pumping in the background. He must be at one of the clubs he frequented, on the hunt for the next victim of the 'DiNozzo charm'.

"Uh, hi Tony. I'm at home"

"Well, get your McAss out of there. We're having, drunking, dri-drinking drinks"

McGee held the phone away from his ear, grimacing at his partner's volume, but inwardly smiling. In the background, he could hear Tony beginning to argue with a familiar voice

"N-No Z. I, I want- stop it! Thatsss mine. Ow! Ok! Ok!"

Tim smiled as he heard the phone being wrestled over, then the familiar voice spoke to him.

"Mah-Gee? It is Ziva. Are you coming? I can, cannot handle Tony on my own."

"Yeah Ziva, I'll be on my way, where are you guys?"

"We're, we're… Tony, where are we?"

"THA TIPSY CROOOW!"

"The Tipsy Crow, McGee… No Tony, she looks too youn-"

The call ended. McGee quickly put the phone back on his desk, turned off the record player, and ran to his bedroom to put on something more appropriate. He felt like he was at Bethesda again, when he had finally been invited to an event that wasn't a study session (not like that happened too often anyway). But it felt good. He quickly pulled on some jeans, buttoned up a nice shirt, gave Jethro a pat, and headed out the door to catch a taxi.

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><p>"MAH-GOO!"<p>

From the moment he stepped into the bar, he heard Tony over the music and the loud chatter that swirled about. He wound his way towards the voice, but Tony found him first, with a frowning, yet relieved Ziva in tow (attempting to keep track of the very drunk man).

"Hey Ton-" Tim began, but Tony cut him off by grabbing the side of his face, and pointing a finger right between his eyes.

"You, Goo. We, I…" Tony's eyes wandered after a woman in a very short and tight cocktail dress.

"Yes Tony?"

"Lesss, less, you, me and ninja woman. Lesss get in a fight". Tony slurred.

Tim frowned, "Tony, no. We're federal agents, we'd get arrested. Our careers Tony."

"I, I, I know McMuffin…" Tony paused and chuckled at that. "Ok, fine. I'm gonna teash, you", his finger wagged in front of McGee's face, "to land a laaaaady! Cuz, we're federal agents!" he yelled.

McGee was about to respond when two of the many beautiful women there walked up to them.

"You're a federal agent?" one asked, directing the question at Tony. The senior agent grinned.

"Why yes, yes I am." He answered, doing his best to sound less drunk than he was as he put his arms around the girls and led them deeper into the bar, winking at McGee and Ziva as they left.

"DiNozzo being DiNozzo." Ziva said, shaking her head, smirking.

"Yeah, well that's Tony, he's always-" McGee stopped, when he realized what Ziva was wearing. While dressed more modestly than the other women in the bar, McGee was stunned. She wore an emerald green cocktail dress, that closely held her features. Her curves...

"McGee! What, are you looking at?" she questioned accusingly, a slim smile slightly curling at the edge of her mouth.

"I… um, just that I've never, um, never seen you…" Tim stuttered. Quickly abandoning explaining the rest of that thought, he quickly pointed to the bar.

"Drinks?"

Ziva laughed, "Yes. Let's, Probie". She mouthed the word, emphasizing it. She turned and headed to the bar, McGee following closely, scanning the room uncomfortably as he was jostled by the packed guests.

"So, I am surprised that you came out." Ziva said.

Oddly, the words cut into McGee, he looked down at the glass of wine he ordered, his finger chasing itself around the edge.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't doing much." He admitted sheepishly, then stared at Ziva for a moment, a bit longer than the customary glance. Quickly realizing this, he continued, hoping she hadn't noticed.

"I was, uh, just writing. Working on… my next novel". The last three words he spoke quietly, causing Ziva to lean in. Every time he mentioned his novels to his coworkers, he thought of the men who died because of it. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, knowing how if it weren't for Thom E. Gemcity, those men would still be alive. Dismay was wrought upon his face.

"McGee?" Ziva asked, her brow creased with concern.

"Yeah, um, just writing" he dismissed, as he smiled, hoping she'd change the subject.

But before she could, Tony did.

"McGooglie eyes! You like Ziva's dressss? I spiiiied you spyin!"

McGee looked into his lap, embarrassed as Ziva gave him a mock look of shock, "Oh really? McGee?"

"Well, it's, um, just that I've never seen you dressed like that. I was just, surprised."

"Oh c-come now Probie, you think s-shess hot! Ssspeaking of hot". Tony turned, seeing two new female additions to the end of the bar. "Duty calllls".

Again, Tony left them, swaying slightly, but not in time with the music. McGee chuckled, happy his partner left. He jumped when he felt Ziva's hand on his arm.

"So, McGee. Tell me about Lisa."

"Lisa?" he questioned. _No,__any__ one __of __my __characters __but __Lisa!_

"Yes, from your book. Describe her to me. And why must she be with Tommy?" She pouted, motioning towards Tony, who was waving a glass of beer around above his head, apparently in an elaborate story, of which the two women at the end of the bar seemed only slightly interested in.

McGee sighed, pushed back his second empty glass of wine, and ordered three fingers of bourbon, neat.

"Oh, I see McGreggor wants to be like Tibbs, no?" She teased.

Tim looked at it, knowing he didn't like bourbon, or maybe he didn't drink it properly. He knew it was sipping alcohol, but he swallowed the entirety of the contents in a quick swig.

"McGee!" Ziva stared, surprised.

"Lisa" Tim began, "is as I described in the book." he said concisely, though feeling a strong desire to launch into a monologue regarding THAT particular character.

Ziva finished, "Cold, hard, yet longing, and… as you said, beautiful, no?". She winked at him and laughed, enjoying teasing McGee, while inwardly hoping she wasn't making him uneasy. It was odd. _Why __is __it __so __hard __to__ talk __with __McGee __right __now?__ It__'__s __so __easy __at __work,_ she thought to herself.

Tim felt the alcohol beginning to really take affect as Ziva ordered another drink.

He was quite uncomfortable with the conversation. He felt that it was forced, something he hadn't experienced ever with Ziva. Maybe he shouldn't have come out. Maybe that's why they never invited him places. Why was he here? Maybe he was meant to be alone on weekends. Tim sighed, as Ziva made quick work of her new drink, watching him closely, secretly wondering, as she often did (and who couldn't), what was going on behind the eyes that matched her emerald dress. Realizing his discomfort, she began talking about work, knowing that a familiar topic would ease the man.

Tim got lost in discussing past cases, work environment, Gibbs.

The mundanity of the conversation ceased, when Ziva asked a question, of which McGee had often wondered about privately.

"So, if you could willingly break one of Gibbs' rules, which one would it be?" She looked coyly as she chewed the end of her straw. Simply her demeanor at the moment, solidified what Tim was thinking. He exhaled, knowing his answer, but refraining from blurting out a number. Before he could answer, he woke up.

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><p><strong>AN: Seriously, Listen to Kind Of Blue by Miles Davis (album)**


	2. Chapter 2

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**Please Review (not just fishing, want to know if i'm doing this right)  
><strong>

**I hope you enjoy!**

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><p>The early morning sun was shining in through his blinds. Even though the light was quite dim, it pierced his brow, causing his head to throb. Slowly he rolled to the window side of his bed, placing his feet on the cool wood floor. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes heavily, berating himself for drinking so much. What did he do last night? The last thing he remembered was Ziva asking about the Gibbs rule he would break. His heart jumped at this realization. What has he said? Was it 3? He would love to have some undisturbed time now and again. Or maybe 23? Well, no, that wouldn't be it. That would be more something Tony would do if Gibbs had a sense of humor. Then it hit him.<p>

Gibbs rules were not rules one would 'willingly' break. _Oh __my __god__…_ Number 12. Had he said 12? _God,__ I__'__m __so __pathetic. __I __said __12,__ and __then __must __have __gone __on__ and __on __in__ a __mournful, __pathetic, __pathetic __way __about __Abby._ Mcgee shook his head, winced at the pain, then shook it slower. _Well,__first __things __first: __water __and__ aspirin__… __And __pants._He looked down at himself; completely naked. He never slept naked. _Odd._ _Oh __my __god, __had __someone __been __here __last __night __with __him?__ But __no __clothes __are __strewn __about. __Hmmm,__ very __odd._

Quickly he pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and slowly began shuffling around the foot of his bed to the open door. He grabbed the door frame to balance himself, and as he did, he paused. Beneath his fingertips, was splintered wood. Pulling himself back into his room, he meticulously stared at what he felt.

In the door frame, as well as the drywall of his bedroom wall, were numerous gashes, as if someone had stabbed the wall with a knife. Carefully, he ran his fingers over the gouges, trying to remember anything about last night that would explain this. After a few minutes, he gave up. _Some __investigator__ you __are,__can__'__t __even __remember __stabbing __your __own__ wall. __Can__'__t __even__ remember,_"ANYTHING!" he yelled, frustrated. Jethro jumped from his current recumbent state in his doggy bed, looking wide-eyed at his owner. "Sorry Jethro, I just… Don't ever drink to much booze Jethro, it's bad for you" he whispered, as he pet the dog softly.

Slowly walking into the kitchen, he filled a glass of water from the tap, then opened his cabinet door to where he kept his vitamins and aspirin. _Obviously __I __didn__'__t __take __a__ multivitamin __or __aspirin__ before__ going__ to__ bed._ _I__ would__ be__ feeling__ alot __better __if __I-._ McGee gasped. Resting on top of the now overturned bottles of pain killers was a pair of… _Women__'__s__ underwear?_ Carefully he pulled the unmentionable from the pills with his fingertips, squinting at them at arms length.

They were lacy, sensual, and… very poor at covering much of anything… Quickly, he felt his heart begin to pound harder, as perhaps the owner of the panties was still in his apartment! He quickly, (or as quickly as his aching head would allow) swept his house, looking around and confirming that no one was there with him. He breathed a sigh of relief. Returning to the kitchen, he took a couple aspirin, finished the rest of the water, and lumbered back to his bed. And that's when he saw it. In the corner of his room, next to his nightstand, atop his neatly folded clothes that he'd warn last night… was a condom wrapper.

Slowly he picked it up, holding it (and the underwear) in front of him, examining each carefully. He had had a one night stand. And he didn't even remember. Dejectedly, he put the wrapper and the underwear down on the floor, and with a sigh, climbed back onto his bed, catching the faint scent of a women's perfume on the pillow as he gave into much needed slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**Please Review (not just fishing, want to know if i'm doing this right)  
><strong>

**I hope you enjoy!**

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><p>Ding! The elevator doors opened, and McGee walked out. It was Monday, and he hated mondays, but he was simply happy to no longer have the hangover he woke up from the morning before. Rounding his way into the bullpen, he saw Tony peeking over his computer, eyebrows dancing. <em>Whack-a-mole,<em> Tim thought, and chuckled. He quickly sat at his desk, booting up his computer as he waited for Tony to begin his morning jabs. But the jabs never came. Tim tried to look very focused on the computer (even though it wasn't fully on yet), avoiding Tony's stare. McGee finally gave in, feeling his partner's eyes on him the entire time.

"What, Tony?"

"Oooh hoo McGoo! So, how was my little Probie's Sunday morning?"

"Painful." He replied shortly, "and surprising." At that McGee clapped a hand over his mouth. _Damnit.__ Surprising?__ I__'__m__ in__ for __it._

Tony grinned, chuckling, "Surprising eh? Well, you were pretty gone Saturday. You said some pretty interesting things. And..." Tony pulled his phone from his pocket, "I have proof."

An intrigued, and slightly horrified look spread over Tim's face. "What did I say?" he inquired.

"Gibbs office for a campfire?" Tony asked, jumping to his feet.

Tim followed suit, worried about what he had said Saturday.

As they approached the elevator, the doors opened and Ziva stepped out and passed them, smiling at them happily. "Morning boys."

"Yeah"

"Uh-huh"

As they stepped into the elevator, McGee was hit with Deja Vu, but passed it off as one of the many times he'd gone to the elevator with Tony. As the doors closed, Tony was hopping from one foot to the other, giggling as he opened the 'Voice Recorder' application on his phone. McGee hit the emergency switch, and they both leaned close.

"You ready Probie? It's kinda long."

"Just play it, Tony."

_Tony: Ok, isss goin_

_McGee: Were gon ferget_

_Tony: Haha we already did Probes_

_Ziva: I shouldn't have drank (hiccup) much. Did you notice the man w-watch uss as we leff?_

_McGee: Z! Z! Who woud'n wassh you leave?_

_Tony: Efferyone wanss ta be uss!_

_Ziva: Somfthin about him. I don' like it_

_McGee: Isss ok Z! Tony an' I gots you!_

_Tony: ssscouts honor_

*incomprehensible yelling and footsteps*

_Tony: oooh hey, ladies_

_Random Woman 1: well, hello there_

_Tony: I, I am, VVVery Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, an this is Agen' Mcgoo._

_McGee: McGee_

_Tony: Here are our cardsss._

_Random Woman 2: (giggle) thanks Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo_

_Tony: If you nnneed ANYthing. You call me. Or us._

_McGee: Call me (hiccup) Tim_

_Ziva: (frustrated tone) He's taken_

_McGee: huh Zee-vah?_

_Tony: Buhbye lllladies! Talk soon. _

_ *pause*_

_Tony: Now THOSE, were women!_

_Ziva: Thanks Tony_

_Tony: No, ZZZavi. Ziva, you're one of us. Juss sexier_

_McGee: Much sexier._

_Tony: But THOSE ladies._

_Ziva: *sigh*_

_McGee: Iss ok Z. So, To-To-Tony, I (burp) where we goin'._

_Tony: Taxi McBooze. Big D, Little I, Big N_

_McGee: Little Ozzo!_

_Ziva: Will you two stop that!_

_ *pause*_

_Tony: Big D, Litt- OW! Ziva!_

_McGee: We're all… fucked up_

_Ziva: Maah-Gee, d-do not cuss. In front. Of a llllady._

_Tony: How 'bout, how 'bout_

_McGee: Behind a lady!_

_Tony: Ya McGee!_

_ *hand clapping from a high five*_

_Tony: Tiny Tim, isn't that the resssstaurant you took-_

_Random Voice: Watch it ya drunks!_

_McGee: Tony, I don't… talk, not now._

_Ziva: Abby?_

_Tony: Yup!_

_McGee: Whatever. It's done and ffffucking done. I'm sorry, she just, isss hard Ziva, you know? Isss..._

_ *Car horn*_

_Tony: Fuck You!_

_McGee: isss whatever. It's ok. Isss my fault. _

_Tony: No, fffuck that! You are my partner… annn my bess friends. I looove Abs bu', she was a bish. Say 'Bad McGee'? Afffter you got eaten?_

_McGee: But i shot a, the dog! Jethro!_

_Tony: No! That wasss a fu-fuckin bear. Gibbss is a bear_

_McGee: Hey! Hey! Tony! Do you thinnk Gibbs likes uss?_

_Tony: (Very serious tone) Of course, Tim. _

_Tim: I wish he wass my real fffather_

_ *pause* _

_Ziva: Boyss, not to (hiccup) interrupt, but there's a taxi._

_Tony: Taxi! Ok, I'm gon walk. My places is riiiiight here. You two, be ssssafe_

_ *Car door opening*_

_McGee: Bye Big D, I, I, I love you._

_Ziva: Night Tony_

_Tony: Love you too, my maaain man. _

_ *Very Sober Tony Voice* _

_Tony: End transmission_

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><p>DiNozzo and McGee looked up at each other, mouths agape.<p>

"That didn't sound... too bad, I guess", McGee sighed.

"No, it didn't." Tony replied.

A certain silence, and unanswered awkwardness followed. Something was missing. Something, that only years of being investigators together, could tell. They both gave each other a quizzical, yet concerned look.

"Hmmmph, we, uh, better get back to work McGee."

"Yeah we do. Yeah we do."

Tony and McGee walked back into the bullpen, Ziva vigilantly noting the matching questioning looks on their faces.

"You two done playing grab ass in my office? Grab your gear, gotta dead marine" Gibbs, barked as he silently slid past them, his agents scrambling with their equipment before following him. Tony and McGee hung back for a moment, as Tony whispered, "Something doesn't seem right about Saturday night." McGee simply nodded as they all entered the elevator.

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><p>"You serious boss? Here? That's a coincidence." Tony stated.<p>

"Got a problem, DiNozzo? Get to work."

Tony nodded, then glanced at McGee, who was standing in the alley next to The Tipsy Crow, the bar they had been at a couple nights ago. The marine, conveniently in his dress uniform, lay unceremoniously inside the filthy dumpster. A few full trash bags inefficiently covered his body. After identifying the marine as Staff Sergeant Clark Firestine, Gibbs headed inside the bar to talk with the owner regarding last night's events. Ziva, Tony, and McGee all stood, staring at the body, wracking their brains to remember if they had seen the man on Saturday night.

"If Ducky finds time of death to be Saturday night, I'm going to pee my pants", Tony stated quietly.

"I'm going to throw up."

Ziva simply stared.

"So, McGoo, Z. Remember this guy?" Tony asked the obvious question.

They both shook their heads.

"Something keeping you from doing your jobs?" Gibbs barked as he rounded the corner into the alley. "Owner of the bar said he saw the Staff Sergeant couple nights ago. Saturday 'round 2am." Gibbs noticed both McGee and Ziva glance towards Tony's crotch area. McGee looked whiter than usual.

"Boss, we uh, we were here that night." McGee blurted, breaking the trio's silence. "We, uh, we all came here for drinks. Don't really remember too much of the night. Honest Boss, we don't remember this guy." Tony and Ziva agreed.

Gibbs frowned. Knowing that his agents, were upstanding citizens (except maybe Tony at times) and wouldn't have killed the man. Although, with McGee's confession, all three became the immediate suspects. Gibbs sighed, "Alright, we'll get to that later. Process the scene." A thought jumped into his head. An impossible thought that furrowed his brow. _If__ my__ three __agents__ were __here__ that __night,__ and __if, __IF, __they__ had__ anything __to__ do__ with__ this,__ they __cann__ot __be __near __the__ crime__ scene._ Looking to his agents, he saw that they were thinking the same thing as they hesitated. Gibbs opened his phone, explained the situation, then closed it again.

"Alright, we're heading back, don't touch anything." he said quietly, shaking his head.

They all nodded. Again. Understanding the gravity of the situation. They packed up, and awaited at a safe distance for the second team to arrive and take over.

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><p><strong>Reviews are very much appreciated, as this is my first ever fanfic (dun dun dun!)<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**Please Review (not just fishing, want to know if i'm doing this right)  
><strong>

**I hope you enjoy!**

**A/N: Thank you so much for the encouraging reviews so far! totally made my day. **

**Warning: This chapter contains an instance of torture. Read with discretion.  
><strong>

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><p>"I think we'd remember killing someone McWorrier." Tony said sternly from his desk. Gibbs was up in MTAC, allowing the three agents to vent their worries in private.<p>

"I know, Tony. It's just that, I don't remember _anything_." Tim said, his tone wrought with concern. "I mean, nothing. Just that I think I slept with som-" McGee, for the second time that day, clapped his hand over his mouth.

"Whaa-? McNo-more-virigin? Could it be true?" Tony teased, raising himself from his seat and moseying over to McGee. "Who was the lucky lady McGee? Or unlucky." McGee, knowing that it was too late to begin backpedaling, sighed, and readied himself for Tony's teasing. _This__ is__ gonna__ last__ months, _he thought to himself.

"I don't know Tony. She left in the morning."

"Oooh hoo, you got burned eh? You're growing up! I'm so proud of you Probie! But you didn't have the DiNozzo touch" he said as he massaged McGee's shoulders, his face quite close to the junior agent's.

"Tony, now's not the time. You can tease me when we're in the clear about the murder."

"Oh no, there's no better time than now McCasanova. Did you woo her with your technobabble? Or no!" Tony's face lit up. "Maybe, you seduced her with your sexy typewriting skills! Ziva, you're not gonna get in on this?" Tony giggled as he wagged his fingers in the air, imitating typing before replacing them on McGee's shoulders.

"McGee, I'm sure you made this woman very happy." She said smiling.

"Thank you Ziva. Tony, please stop touching me."

"You heard him DiNozzo. Stop touching McGee."

Gibbs had returned from MTAC, and swiftly took a seat at his desk. Tony retreated, but glanced back as he heard Gibbs answer his phone. His brow raised slightly, turning and boring holes through McGee with steely blue eyes.

"Yeah, got it." Gibbs snapped his phone shut. "McGee, with me. Abby's lab."

McGee hardly had a chance to stand as Gibbs forcibly grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet, hurrying him along. Tim was horrified. It reminded him of the case where Landon was killing people according to Rock Hollow, Tim's second novel. _No,__ that__ was__ my __fault.__ All__ my__ fault. __I__ deserved__ Gibbs __being__ so __mad __at __me._

Tony didn't have the heart to joke as Tim was drug away, seeing the fear and humiliation in the younger man's eyes. Tony simply looked down at his desk, for once wearing his feelings on his sleeve, the way McGee did.

"Tony?" Ziva asked sympathetically.

"Nope." He whispered, shaking his head.

Tony knew what was going on. He wasn't stupid. He acted childish and teasingly towards McGee and Ziva because of the sorry excuse for parenting he received from Tony Sr. (and poor decisions by himself). It was something he was running over with his therapist. Obviously he couldn't let the Probies know he saw a therapist... Or how much he cared about them. But Tim… he liked to call him Tim when he thought about him. Tim was something special. Tony had never met anyone like him; someone who always tried to do the right thing. From picking a snack from the vending machine or making sure he spent a good amount of time with Abby, even though she too treated him poorly. Well, maybe not poorly, they just wanted different things. _Why__ does__ he__ put __up__ with __us?_ Tony thought, wondering if a man like Tim ever reached a breaking point. He wanted to confess to Tim how much he meant to him. How much he wished that they could call one another brothers. Or maybe go visit his family, and be introduced as 'my friend Tony'. He admired the young agent, trying to 'do one thing like Tim a day', as his therapist suggested. Sighing, Tony bunched up a piece of paper, tossing it into McGee's trash can, silently wondering what he'd do if he ever lost McGee.

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><p>"So just tell me what in the hell, your NCIS card was doing on the murder victim?" Gibbs yelled after the evidence had been brought back from the scene.<p>

"Uh, I, um, we, um-" McGee was stunned

"Today! McGee!"

"Tony and I gave out our cards to some girls Saturday night. That's it. You can take a look at what we were wearing. There won't be any blood" McGee, sensing the potential severity of the situation, became as he had when his sister had been accused of murder. He knew this was Gibbs, a man he was terrified of, but he wasn't going to back down.

"Look, Boss. I don't remember much of that night, but I know we didn't kill Firestine. There's…" McGee paused, knowing his next statement was a conflicted, not wanting the older man to be disappointed in him (not like he could avoid that anyway, now).

"Boss, Ton-"

"Boss! I can prove we didn't do it!" Tony called as ran into Abby's lab, nearly running her over, waving the phone in the air. Gibbs stared questioningly, then nodded a mere millimeters.

"Can we, uh, do this, uh somewhere quieter? Interrogation?" McGee stuttered.

Gibbs shook his head in mock frustration.

"Ok, let's go".

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><p>McGee: Bye Big D, I, I, I love you.<br>Ziva: Night Tony  
>Tony: Love you too, my maaain man.<br>*Very Sober Tony Voice*  
>Tony: End transmission<p>

"So? You believe us?" McGee pleaded. Tony, McGee, and Ziva sat in chairs on one side of the interrogation table, while Gibbs reclined on the other, fighting to hold back a smile. He knew that, while this wasn't enough to fully clear their names, it was enough to ease up any thoughts otherwise. He'd only ever experienced a tiny handful of times where his agents had become drunk, but nothing like this. Oddly though, the most disturbing of the recording was McGee saying the "F Word". There were other parts of the recording that he wanted to address.

_Why did McGee wish he was his father? Didn't he have the 'perfect' family? Was McGee seeing someone? Tony's gotta have an STD by now. Was the breakup between McGee and Abby that bad…? Sober thoughts equal drunk words..._

"Boss?" McGee was trying to remain serious as Tony was playing footsie with him under the table. Gibbs pulled McGee's card from an evidence bag, placing it on the table. One of the corners were soaked with the Staff Sergeant's blood. McGee looked at it carefully. Gibbs slid his knife under it, flipping it over. On the back, was a message in tiny handwritten scrawl. McGee had to squint to read it.

**As-Salam Alaykum Agent McGee,**

**You and I are not that different. I know what it's like to be consistently second guessed. Do they feel you're inadequate? I will help you transcend them. Through Fire. I expect you soon. Arm yourself. Saleem should have ended you, for the damage you can do. You are a worthy adversary, Katîb.**

**M.S.**

Saleem. It was just name. It was just a title, of someone deceased. Someone who should never be spoken about again. Someone who's wrath was over. A name that evoked fear in the four agents' hearts. A name; with it, conclusion.

Silence. More silence. McGee began to speak as Gibbs cut him off, answering his question.

"There were no fingerprints on it. No significant forensic evidence at the crime scene as of yet. Abby is still processing it, but nothing in relation to your card. We'll figure it out. Figure out M.S.'s connection. I'll get all the information on any undeclared persons from the camp in Somalia. Well, the other team's gonna figure it out, but if I get names, you'll track it, McGee. And what you all said in the recording can clear you, it won't do any help finding this guy." He stood, retrieving the evidence, and left. Tony had stopped playing footsie with McGee, but rest his hand on his shoulder, giving it a supportive squeeze as McGee stared at the wall.

"Come on buddy, don't worry 'bout what that psycho says. Prob just some drunk guy thinking it would be funny." Tony gave him a warm smile, but anxiety showed in his eyes, knowing damn well that it was not 'just some drunk guy'. "We'll figure this out, I'll uh, go help Gibbs." Tony also stood, leaving Tim with a blank stare and Ziva, who had her hand on his forearm in support.

"Seriously?" McGee finally breathed. "Me? Again? Wasn't the whole ordeal with my book enough?" He dropped his head onto the desk, arms folded. Ziva sat by quietly, rubbing his arm.

"I do not know McGee. Katîb. In arabic, means 'writer'. How would he know that?" She sighed, trying to rid herself of the thought of Somalia. She ended the conversation quickly, keeping in check the rising emotions and pain within her.

"But I'm sure everything will work out. You have nothing to worry about." She then stood, pausing for a moment, to look at him, a feeling passing through her that she passed off as concern, and exited. As she walked down the hall, she, almost involuntarily hurried to the women's restroom and cursed herself, leaning up against the wall. She slid down, till she was seated on the floor, fighting to keep weakness from spilling from her eyes again. But she failed to contain the tears as she wondered why it was so hard for her to be there for McGee, as he had been for her some time ago.

**Xxx _Flashback __xxX_**

Timothy McGee had been seated comfortably at his desk, drumming his fingers lightly on the keys of his typewriter, but not allowing the keys to go far enough to imprint ink upon the page. Ziva was still in the process of recovering after her rescue from Somalia, and all he could think about was how she was holding up. After all, it had only been weeks since they'd all returned together. Tim smiled, then winced. He had been ready to give his life to bring Ziva from the hell she was in.

_You__'__ll__ never __tell __them,__will__ you?_ He asked himself.

_Or, __at__ least __if__ they__ don__'__t__ ask_. _No, __it__ was __all __about__ helping__ Ziva__ forget; __helping __her__ mend. It's not about you. Don't be selfish. She endured worse than you. Forget it. She's dealing with much worse than you. You're weak. Forget it._

But he couldn't.

He winced again, remembering how an unknown man, under direction of Saleem had drug a knife, heated over flame, across his back. He'd twist it and wiggle it, inscribing permanently upon the young agent's back lines that would forever remain. It took hours before the young agent finally made a noise, to Saleem's delight. His mouth erupted open as the unknown man whipped his back with a red hot pole of steel, tears and saliva pouring from his contorted face. Saleem spoke words of encouragement to the unknown man. McGee had almost been more startled at the noise he made, than the pain, hearing his voice; a half-scream half-cough animalistic noise echo through the compound. A sound heard by Ziva and Tony both, but knew from the tone, it could not be any one of them, especially McGee. But, it had been. And only one knew. The unknown man continued.

Although McGee couldn't see him (as he faced the corner of the cell) he could hear Saleem speaking arabic to his counterpart. McGee's analytical nature (even in the face of torture) detected that Saleem's tone was that of encouragement, yet condescending. Perhaps teaching the other about torture.

The man whipped McGee's back with moderate force, but eventually became more confident, slinging the whip (or whatever it was) across the open wounds with reckless abandon. After what seemed like hours, the duo drug Tim to the cell that he would lay upon the ground as Saleem and Tony conversed. But, not before the unnamed man stepped in front of McGee, locking eyes with him, and whispered "you are strong, Katîb."

Tim burned incense in his apartment now, because the smell of his own burning skin sometimes tore him from his sleep.

He never forgot that face. The scar running through his left eyebrow. The mole on the side of his nose. The deep brown eyes; sad, yet tormented, like a starved frightened dog that is willing to fight to the death. McGee never forgot that face.

He never told them what happened to him there, after he and Tony had been captured. He never would. Tony had bragged how nothing, aside from the truth drug and a few punches, had befell him in Somalia. _Lucky __you._

McGee had reached beneath his shirt and was running his fingers over the scars on his back. He couldn't feel them all, but he knew they were there. He traced them slowly, recalling the sights, smells, and feel of everything about each moment tied with each scar.

He had thought for a moment, when his hands were bound above his head to a pipe in the corner of the room, that he was like one of Gibb's boats. Instruments, wielded with surgical accuracy, or emotional frustration; gouged, cut, filed, split, snapped, tore, and bored into his flesh. No one ever saw his scars.

Then, there was a knock at the door. Quickly pulling his hands from the scars and assuring himself that they were well hidden by his shirt, he glanced at the time as he strode to the door. 12:56am. Looking through the peep-hole questioningly, he simply saw dark hair and red eyes. Eyes that should have been a beautiful brown.

"Ziva, what are y-" he stopped, his mouth agape as she stood, tears still fresh on her face.

"Come in!" He demanded, as he put his arm around her, pulling her in to the safe apartment. Closing the door and locking it, he led her to his couch, helping her sit. He fell next to her, seating himself toward the hurting Israeli; taking hold of her hands in his, stroking them slowly. Even socially awkward McGee knew that if anything was to be said, it would be from her. Years of glares and awkward stammering on his part had taught him as much about his friend. Whatever had the typically strong, stoic, even cold woman looking so… vulnerable, was a subject that must be dealt with tenderly.

After some time, Tim slid back next to her on the couch, where she instinctively wrapped her arms around his right one, her tiny nose sniffing on his shoulder. An hour passed, and not a word was spoken. Then, Tim broke the silence, simply stating, with the truest compassion for his friend and tears in his eyes, "I just want you to know Ziva, that you're not alone. It's not your fault. And I'll always be here for you. No matter what." So few words, but so much meaning. McGee felt Ziva nod against his now thoroughly wet shoulder as a new wave of tears came. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, cursing himself for not being a stronger man.

**Xxx End Flashback xxX**

Sitting in the women's restroom at NCIS, Ziva remembered that night. The night few words were spoken, but all was understood. McGee had waited till she'd fallen asleep against him, then lifted her softly, placing her tiny frame easily onto his bed. She remembered the tenderness with which he had tucked her in, stroking her cheek softly, like a concerned brother. And, as the gentleman that he was, he'd readied himself for bed, but slept atop the covers, as to not cause Ziva to be self conscious in the morning.

It was the single most touching, and meaningful moment she'd ever experienced.

It had helped her see that she wasn't alone. The rebuilding began soon after that night.

She sighed to herself, splashing water on her face, exiting the restroom with telltale Ziva confidence, but an unusual softness to her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**Please Review (not just fishing, want to know if i'm doing this right)  
><strong>

**I hope you enjoy!**

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><p>The day slowly drew to a close. Any information from the crime scene was dealt with by Gibbs. With his three agents potential (but very unlikely) suspects, he needed to complete most of the work on his own. It was merely protocol, and he recruited the help of the other teams as he wondered what exactly happened on Saturday night. Standing slowly from his desk, he walked to elevator. Any additional information that could be acquired on regarding the body would be in the mind of Ducky.<p>

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><p>"Jethro, so pleasant of you to finally drop in. I was beginning to wonder-"<p>

"What can you tell me Duck?"

"Well, the cause of death was in fact multiple stab wounds to the 3rd and 4th quadrant of the abdomen. The blade was quite impressive in size, serrated, with very few, but present defensive wounds. I would suggest the blade was between 6 and 8 inches, penetrating our poor Staff Sergeant's stomach, liver, and kidneys. There were 6 separate wounds.

"Hmm, that it?"

"Not quite Jethro. I have something else. Well, it's quite fascinating, I assure you. Take a look here. Now, I am aware this is not the cause of death, but I foresee it as being quite relevant to the case. You see this circumferential callous between the proximal and middle phalange on the digitus annularis of the left hand?"

"English, Duck."

"His ring finger Jethro. This type of callous on his ring finger would be indicative of someone who was continually removing a ring. A wedding ring to be exact. Now, Jethro, I can only deduce that perhaps, perhaps mind you, our Staff Sergeant was having an affair."

"Unless his M.O.S. involved field work, where he would remove it before heading out in the field. May or may not be a cheating situation. Can't rule out a jealous wife."

"But Jethro, more importantly, I have something else that is quite, dare I say, disturbing."

Ducky led Gibbs over to an examining tray, upon which lay several 8x11 glossy photos.

"These photos are of our dearly departed's epidermal inferioir lattisimus dorsi."

Ducky held up the photos for Gibbs to see. The pictures were of the Sergeant's back. Scrawled, obviously with a blade or some sort of sharp instrument, was inscribed the words: 'Antadhiru Katîb'. Gibbs studied the pictures, glancing momentarily at the body on the autopsy table.

"Katîb means 'writer', and Antadhiru means 'I am waiting' in Arabic, Jethro.

'I am waiting, Writer'

I must say, that the issue of a jealous wife and a cheating sergeant may be ruled out, for this body, is a message. I must deduce, unfortunately, mind you, that 'writer', may be referring to our Timothy. That is, if the murderer in fact knows of Timothy's second career. It is quite intriguing Jethro, if this is referring to Timothy, why would he be a target, and who would refer to him in the native tongue of the middle east?"

"Strange, Duck. Thanks."

And with a worried look, Gibbs was gone, leaving Ducky with the deceased.

"Oh my friend, I do apologize that you may be simply the parchment for a morbid letter" Ducky shook his head slowly, before preparing Firestine for his eternal slumber.

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><p>"DiNozzo, the wife?" Gibbs called as he strode into the bullpen, then realizing that his team had been removed from the case. DiNozzo looked at him curiously.<p>

"Uh, Boss, I don't have a wife."

Gibbs shook his head, pulling out his phone to call the other team. He made it clear to them that he wanted all the information on the case as soon as it was discovered. After completing the call and explaining the information that Ducky had relayed to him (much to the chagrin of McGee), Gibbs finally rubbed his eyes, then nodded to his team to go home.

"Hold on McGee."

"Yeah Boss?" McGee stopped.

"You'll be staying at my place tonight. Whoever M.S. is, if he's serious, I figure you'd be more comfortable there than a safehouse." Gibbs eyes were stern, daring McGee to challenge. McGee quietly wondered why such a fuss about him. _If__ it __were __Ziva __or__ Tony, __I__'__d__ understand,__ but__ why__ worry__ so__ much__ for __the__ tech __guy?_ Regardless of his thoughts, McGee's response was as expected.

"Yes Boss."

"Take Tony to pick up some things for a few nights, then meet at my house."

"Yes Boss."

Tony had perked up, rubbing fatigue out of his eyes, "Oooh McSlumber-Party!"

"Shut up Tony"

"We gonna pick up your jammies?"

"Shut up Tony"

"Maybe Gibbs can tuck us in and read us a bedtime story"

"Shut up Tony"

"Maybe Ziva will only wear-"

"Finish that sentence Tony, and you will not wake up" the Israeli glared.

Tony grinned, regarding the sentence as not important or witty enough to finish anyway as he hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders noisily. He put his arm around the younger agent's shoulders, and opened his mouth to say something celever, condescending (but not too much so), and juvenile but stopped. Tony shut his mouth as they walked, McGee's eyes downcast and cloudy. Fear was in his eyes. Tony decided that this was no time for jokes, and would (at least try) to keep them at a minimum. The elevator doors closed as they heard Ziva say to Gibb's, "Can I stay over as well?".

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you to whoever is putting up with this so far haha. I love you forever**


	6. Chapter 6

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**Please Review (not just fishing, want to know if i'm doing this right)  
><strong>

**I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"Alright Probie, I got <em>Treasure<em>_ of __The Sierra__ Madre, __Fifth __Element,__ Harvey, __Driving __Miss__ Daisy ,_and _Thunderball_! What do you want to watch?" Tony was fidgeting.

McGee studied his superior, trying to determine whether he was anxious because of the potentially lethal situation McGee was in, or just excited about the 'sleepover'. McGee concluded it was most likely the latter, due to the goofy grin Tony had as he held the dvd cases like playing cards.

Gibbs was outside running through the duties and locations of the agents posted for the night shift protection detail. He grimly paced around his property, glancing cooly at all the dark corners of the neighborhood, parked cars, vantage points. He thought about the recording that DiNozzo had taken from that Saturday night. There were many questions that he wanted answered in regards to the comments made. _In due time, _Gibbs thought to himself, relieved that he made Tony promise not to reveal the contents of it to Abby.

Abby was one with a heart about the size of Tim's, but her enthusiasm, curiosity, and ambition occasionally left her tuning out others. It was a flaw, but a quirk that made her a pivotal part of the team. Perhaps, one day, after this all had blown over, McGee would finally relay to his past love interest how much he'd been hurt.

As Gibbs turned his eyes to the agents, he smiled at what he saw. McGee had established quite a reputation at the Navy Yard. The agents paced as rigidly and observantly as Gibbs did, distrusting the normal shadows of the evening. Over the years, almost everyone who worked at NCIS had experienced McGee's charm. But it wasn't the type of charm that is associated with a womanizer, or one who knew all the right word to say. That was Tony. McGee was… different. A nice kid. A bit of a softy though.

Gibbs saw McGee as one who needed to be protected, like a child. Gibbs sighed, his stern and stoic nature not allowing him to think further about his relationship with McGee. He sipped his coffee, took one final glance around, then headed inside.

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><p>McGee leaned against the wall in the living room. Tony was seated on a folding chair, while Gibbs and Ziva took spots on the couch. Tony had laid out the DVD's on the coffee table, and was studying them intensely, as if the decision of which movie to watch would affect the outcome of the evening. Ziva was looking around the room, hands folded, eyes avoiding contact with McGee's. <em>She<em>_'__s __been__ doing __that __lately,_ Tim thought. Gibbs was smirking at Tony, hands cradling a mug of coffee.

_Who are these people? Why am I here? Why do they care so much? Oh, that's right, who would do their computer stuff for them. Boss, he's, I just don't get him. I mean, I respect the man, but I just wish… that he would see me like Tony. But I'm not Tony. I'm just McGee. Just Probie. _

McGee rubbed his left arm, remembering several years ago when Gibbs had hit him there during the Rock Hollow case.

_Maybe he is just like my father… I just… wish I understood, why I'm never good enough for him. Why he treats Tony like a son, and not me. _

An image passed through McGee's head, one of memories of his father replaced with Gibbs. He thought of father/son bonding that never happened. A strong, caring father to teach him about life. The image slowly faded, and was replaced with one of a leather belt, folded in half swiftly cutting through the air down towards him. McGee flinched, moving his eyes quickly over the three seated agents to see if they had noticed him tense up. They hadn't. Of course.

_Tony. He thinks this is simply movie night. Someone may be trying to kill me, and he's gonna make popcorn then yell spoilers five minutes before the credits. When I was young, I had to take care of Sarah. I had to grow up too fast, so that I could replace that sorry excuse for our father. If only I had had an older brother to help me with raising her, I wouldn't have been so scared that any little mistake I made would cause her to grow into a bad person. If only I had had an older brother to tell me that I was doing a good job raising her. That I was a good brother. That I was a good man. I never should have allowed myself to think that Tony would ever fill that void. Of course he's to busy flirting with all and any females, including Ziva, to care about anyone but himself. That's accurate, right?_

_Oh Ziva. Why are you here? I'm the tech guy. I know we're… 'friends', but you don't need to be here. I know you only wanted me to come out to the bar because you couldn't handle Tony. Am I really that awkward to be around? After what I put up with for you? I don't mean to be selfish, but have you seen my scars, Ziva? Have you seen them? I know you came to me for comfort after Somalia, and I'll do anything for you, but do you have any idea what they did to me over there? For you? I know that what you went through was a million times worse than what I did, but I have scars too. But, I would do it again in a heartbeat. I'd take any torture, for you Ziva. I'd die for you. You have no idea. You have no idea. Have you seen my scars? Do you have any idea how I feel? How I pray that one day you'll see them. Run your fingers across them. Heal them. Erase them. Realize what I will do for you. What I will endure for you. Erase the scars Ziva, please. I want to feel the palms of your beautiful hands on them, cover them up. _

McGee was broken out of his thoughts by Ziva. She was just a few steps from him, smiling kindly. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed her get up from the couch.

"Nervous, McGee?"

"N-no"

Well that doesn't sound convincing" her smile widened.

"Just… thinking" he didn't dare ever repeat what had gone through his mind at that moment. Or say how often those exact thoughts clouded his mind daily.

_They can never know._

"Well, McGee, you are safe here, we will protect you" she put her hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, then walked past him into the kitchen to grab some coffee. As she passed, McGee bit his tongue.

He was about to resume his thoughts on his team as he looked to Tony and Gibbs, who were carefully studying him, unspoken uncertainty and worry in their eyes. That's when he caught Deja Vu for the second time that day.

**Xxx Flashback xxX**

"I- want. We need- to go home. Cabbie! We live close by, to each, each-es, each other" The cab driver looked back at the terribly drunk young man with the deep green eyes, shaking his head as he tried to sputter the address of his apartment. Once the driver heard the apartment complex name, he figured he'd let the kid (who didn't look old enough to be drinking, really) and his lady friend out first chance he had.

***** Moment of Blackout/Memory Loss *****

"Ma-Gee. I want, to see, you… type." Ziva slurred, as she stumbled over to McGee's typewriter.

"Z, I'm t-tired an', those girls ousside. They were sheckin me out!"

"You deserve better, Tim. You're not Tony."

"Who knowss? Maybe on of um, is the one. An anyways… Woah, you called me Tim!" McGee, who had been waving his hands in the air in the direction of his door, stopped abruptly at the realization that Ziva hadn't used his surname.

"Yes. I did." Ziva leaned against McGee's writing desk, a coy look on her face.

"But Z, I- I dunno anyone now would wanna be wif me. Isss pathetic. Juss pathetic. Ya see Z, I'm differ'nt (hiccup). I juss wanna-." He paused. While he was very much drunk and most likely wouldn't be remembering this anytime soon, he weighed the confession he was about to make.

"I'm different cuss, I juss, I'm juss not T-Tony. I don' wan ta sleep aroun'. I want a good wom'n. I juss- whatever. Iss whatever."

"No-o Ma-Gee. It, it is not what-ever. You will find… no, realize that what you want iss... right-"

"I'm gonna go talk ta them! You're right Z. I will find 'er. An maybe she's one of those girls! Thanks Z" McGee staggered over to Ziva, and pulled her into a firm hug, stooping to rest his cheek on her shoulder.

"You're right Z! I looove you! You'll see! I'll ge' one uf those girls to ssssleep wid me tonight!" He kissed her on the forehead, released from the hug, and began shuffling to the door.

In the reflection of a picture frame, his eyes caught Ziva's blurred figure saying something as she looked at the floor. But, McGee was too drunk to notice as he whipped his door open and stumbled out, slamming it behind him. Jethro's worried eyes met Ziva's, and he padded over to her, understanding all, in the way only dogs can.

**Xxx End Flashback xxX**

"So, McStarer, you just gonna look at us, or you gonna pick a movie?"

McGee, again, snapped out of his own mind. He shook his head grimly.

"Naw Tony, I think I'm just gonna get some sleep. Boss?"

"Upstairs. First door on your right."

"Thanks Boss. Sorry Tony. Just not feeling up to it tonight." McGee picked up the duffel he had brought and slowly paced upstairs. The three agents watched after him until they heard the door of the bedroom close. As if on cue, Gibbs stood and headed for the basement, calling over his shoulder "You got first shift DiNozzo."

"Got it boss." Tony replied, quietly, thinking about the enigma that had just retreated, as if defeated to the bedroom upstairs. Tony sighed, leaned back on the couch and rubbed his eyes.

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><p>"I don't get it Z." he whispered as she took a seat at the other end of the couch. "I mean, there's something going on, you know? With McGee. He's, I don't know. I just can't put my finger on it. Not talking 'bout this case, but it's like, something's been on his mind."<p>

"Since Somalia." Ziva finished his thought. As much as it pained her to bring it up, she had sensed it too. Aside from her moment of weakness in seeking out McGee's comforting nature, there had been a rift. That's how she saw it. A moment of weakness. Right? She had expected them to all grow closer, and in a way they had, but something was off.

"You think? Somalia? I guess, but Probie's been, I don't know, distant."

"But why would you care Tony?" Tony looked at her, shocked.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" his tone becoming cross, as he leaned forward and turned to Ziva. She took a deep breath, trying to choose her words wisely, knowing Tony's nature.

"Well, it seems you do not care too much for McGee, sometimes. The way you treat him."

"Of course I care about McGee! I treat him like… like a probie! Like my probie! Like McGee! You do too! He's like, oh I don't know Ziva, he's just McGee."

Tony's therapist, Dr. Brandt's voice echoed within the agent's mind. "_Tim, is the closest you have to a brother. He would die for you. Spend time with him outside work. Do things he likes to do. If you feel so guilty about not showing you care about him, then do just that. Show that you care_."

"Maybe that's it, Tony. 'Just McGee'." She looked at him intensely, a feeling of guilt welling up within her. She knew it wasn't just Tony who saw him like that. Gibbs did as well. How she saw him…

"Look Ziva." Tony whispered, his whole body now turned to his partner, his eyebrows narrowed, subconsciously resisting Dr. Brandt's advice.

"McGee, is McGee, yeah. But you have to understand, he and I have been through alot together. I care about him. I do. I just…" he sighed, becoming interested in invisible dust on the couch.

"Then why do you not show it?"

"I do Ziva! In a different way. I can't just waltz over to his place and talk about my feelings with him. That's not our… dynamic. We're like Starsky and Hutch! I just, I don't know, McGee's just different. He's alot different than the kind of people I'd normally hang out with. You know, buddies of mine."

"Are you saying McGee is not your friend?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm just saying, that… um, we're alot different from each other. Apples and oranges, you know?"

"I do not understand how fruit plays into this."

Tony gave a small laugh. Even though it may have been a bit forced, he needed it to keep his mind off delving further into the subject that was his relationship with McGee.

"I don't know what the rift was about. I just know the kid would do anything for us. I mean, the day after we got back from Somalia, he came to my apartment to ask if I was ok. HE asked ME, if I was ok. Stuttered for about 5 minutes and finally spit out 'if you need anything, even just to talk Tony, I'm here'. I mean, it's like the guy has too big of a heart. I don't know how to handle that." Tony sighed, knowing in 100 lifetimes, there would be no way he could ever be as thoughtful as McGee. Or as he thought. _Maybe I just limit myself..._

"He did the same for me."

"But Ziva, you were held hostage for three months! Missing. Of course he'd want to know how you were doing. But me? I don't get it. I just… No one has been that caring to me." Tony gasped, realizing what he'd just said. Terror of realization was in his eyes. Slowly, he covered his mouth with his hand, biting one of his fingers as his eyes began to sting. Tears. _No one has been that caring to me._ Then, in true DiNozzo fashion, found a way to joke about it.

"You think he's… you know, gay?"

"Really Tony?" Ziva replied sarcastically.

"I need some air" Tony rose from his seat, placed his hands on his hips and sighed, staring at the ceiling, then headed for the front door.

When she heard the bolt click, Ziva too rose. The weight of the conversation, of McGee's caring nature, had motivated her. McGee needed to know that what he did, does, and will always do for them was appreciated. She made it halfway up the stairs when she noticed a dark mass obstructing her way at the top. Two sad green orbs, suspended in darkness were attached to it.

"McGee?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been sitting at the top of the stairs?"

"Long enough."

"McGee I, we, Tony didn't…"

"Stop."

McGee stood slowly, having heard and understood everything, his eyes sadly closing.

"McGee!"

"No. Stop. Don't say any more." he said quietly, turning his back on her, as she and Tony just had (or at least he felt), and retreated to the temporary solace of the bedroom.

Ziva collapsed. She never collapsed. She took McGee's spot at the top of the stairs, wrapped her arms around herself, and, in complete silence, cried.

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><p><strong>AN: I know that may have been a bit painful, but i feel a story cannot be 'good' without conflict. especially like this.**

**A/N: To some who've reviewed: Obviously, there are issues of team mate frustration and miscommunication and conclusions in dialogue that are jumped to (by McGee). But I feel that (while it isn't hatred for team mates), there needs (for this particular story) to be opposition of attitudes, perspectives, and personalities. But do not fret...**


	7. Chapter 7

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**So, I was intending on releasing a chapter per day, but I am loving the reviews too much. haha**

**I hope you enjoy!**

**Pre-Chapter A/N (that stands for author's note, right?): Hint: The closest brotherhoods/relationships must go through hardship.**

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><p>Tony didn't know where he was going. He was just too confused. He nodded to the agents outside as he passed, hands in his pockets, hurrying to nowhere. Or maybe a park.<p>

_Yeah, the park by Gibbs house. It's nice and quiet. Not too far away. Nice bench. God dammit, why is this so hard. Come on DiNozzo! Get yourself together man! Ok, remember what Dr. Brandt says. 'The only obstructions from those close to you, are the ones you place yourself.' Then why is this so damn hard? I know Probie's not gay. Why did I say that?_

_Look, McGee, just because you had perfect parents who taught you how to be a gentleman, doesn't mean everyone is like that. I had no one to show me how to be caring, like you. My biggest role model is a fraud and a shameless womanizer. It's hard to call him Dad. _

Tony had reached the park quicker than he thought. He promptly made his way across the grass, wet from the sprinklers, and found the bench beneath the willow. It too was wet when he sat down, but he didn't care. There was a nice partial view of the skyline through some trees, but he payed no attention to it. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

_Why, Tony, couldn't you just ask if he was ok when we got back from Somalia, like he did for you? Or any of the other times? Why can't you just… show that you give a damn? Is it really because he's McGee? Truth is, DiNozzo, you know you love the guy. Cases, NCIS, and hell, life wouldn't be the same without him. Remember what Dr. Brandt says. 'Timothy, from what I can gather, may be the closest person to you in your life. The one that cares the most about you. But he can't, if you don't let him.' That's the damn truth._

"Uggh." Tony ran his hands through his hair and leaned back violently. His eyes caught the image of a man, standing not 15 yards from him. The moonlight shone off his bald head. Tony's hand slowly crept towards his sig.

"I wouldn't draw Agent DiNozzo. I am not here to hurt you." Tony recognized the voice. And wretched as he heard it.

It was Trent Kort.

"What do you want, Kort?"

"Well don't you look all lonesome and self-loathing. Something bothering you?"

"Answer my question."

Kort slowly paced to the bench and took a seat next to the agent. Tony shifted uncomfortably.

"I was expecting Agent Gibbs, but I suppose you'll suffice."

"Answer the damn question! What do you want."

Kort chuckled. "Well, while the relationship between myself and Gibbs team, yourself included, is not of the… strongest nature, we have committed ourselves to quite… a reciprocally altruistic existence. I understand, you are currently protecting an agent of yours? McGee."

"Yes…"

"Cute kid."

"He's not a kid."

"Alright, alright. Well, the protection detail; I am assuming that may be a reason you are feeling so… disheveled. But that's a sidenote, I assume. I can provide information regarding your suspect."

At this, Tony leaned forward, obviously interested, looking for any way to assist in easing McGee's troubled soul about the situation.

"Alright Kort, I'm listening."

Kort laughed. "Oh DiNozzo, you are obviously unaware of what reciprocally altruistic means. I provide you with assistance. You provide me with assistance. Given that you have nothing to give me, that you are aware of, what are you willing to do to acquire information to resolve this situation?"

Tony glared at Kort. He wanted nothing to do with this man. The man that had been involved in his near death. Blew his cover with La Grenouille. Ruined his relationship with someone he loved. It took all Tony had not to strangle the man. Or put a round in his condescending skull.

"What do you want."

Kort rubbed a hand on his chin pensively. "You'll know it when it happens. I need you to agree."

"I'm not agreeing to anything unless I know what it is." Tony growled.

"Well, DiNozzo, I am the only chance you have in finding the murderer. Tell me, do you like Somalia?"

Tony sat, stunned. Violent images surged into his head. _Somalia?_

"You will assist me, with what I ask. Or, you can let McGee die. Your choice."

At that, Kort stood and began to walk away. Tony stood abruptly, his emotions getting the better of him.

"Alright Kort, I'll do it. Tell me."

"Firstly, it is not what you can do, but what Agent McGee will do. But that's aside the point. You don't have anything to worry about in terms of protecting McGee tonight. Your suspect isn't even in the country. Northeast corner of the park. Someone may have dropped an envelope into the trash can. It may be valuable. Good night, Agent Dinozzo."

And with that, Kort strode into the darkness, cool and calm. Tony waited till he was gone, then rushed to the trash can as directed by Kort. He lifted of the top and peered in, using his phone as a light. An 8x11 manilla envelope rested on the trash. Tony picked it up, tucked it into his belt underneath his jacket, and hurried off back to Gibbs' house.

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><p><strong>AN: I am not too knowledgeable on the chronological order of things, so if there are some issues with time (occurrences in Somalia/references to past events) I apologize. It's hard putting the tv show that I love into words... aaaah!**


	8. Chapter 8

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**Please Review (not just fishing, want to know if i'm doing this right)  
><strong>

**I hope you enjoy!**

**P.S. I DO NOT OWN NCIS, OR ITS CHARACTERS. **

**Warning: Contains Language (Better late than never, I suppose)**

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><p><em>He thinks I'm gay? For caring? I just thought he had gone through the same thing in Somalia as me. That's why. Even if I knew he hadn't, I still would have asked! Gay? He's the one who touches me all the time. I… just wanted someone I could call brother…<em>

_And God Damn It! I slept with some girl from the parking lot! She's probably from my building. Oh no! It's going to be awkward if I find out who, and we walk past each other every day! Damnit Tim, some random floozie? You better get yourself checked._

McGee ground his teeth in frustration. Tony's words had cut him like a knife. In the back. He knew he and DiNozzo were different. Very different. But he still considered his superior a friend. His best friend even. Apparently he was the only one. Apples and Oranges. He was 'just McGee'.

_Just Mcgee? Just goddamn McGee? Who the hell does he think he is? Sure, I may not be as confident as him. I'm not as strong or handsome. I don't have charm like him. But, I can run longer. I care about people's feelings. I'm not a chauvinist. I'm not self-centered. I'm not dependent on others' attention. No, no Tim, don't be harsh on him, everyone has flaws. Tony is no exception. Don't dwell on his flaws. No! But still, I'm just McGee. God, I need to get out of here. _

Tim rose from the bed, quickly putting on his clothes and gathering his things into his overnight bag.

_I'm not going to be protected by someone who doesn't care, or at least makes it seem that way. I can protect myself._

Mcgee quietly turned the door handle, took a deep breath, and opened the door. Then stepped right into Gibbs.

"Oh, god Boss, sorry!" Tim lamented as Gibbs rubbed his nose, smirking.

"Going somewhere McGee?" _How __did __Gibbs __know __that? _McGee was about to say no, then looked at the bag in his hand, realizing he couldn't talk his way out of this.

"I'm, ummm, I'm leaving. What did you want?" Tim was stunned at his own words. Expecting a head slap, or even a punch to the gut, grimaced.

Gibbs was shocked by Tim's words. _What __did __you __want? __The __hell__'__s __gotten __into __McGee? _Gibbs placed his hand on McGee's shoulder, pushing him back into the room, closing the door behind him. While still very surprised at McGee's choose of words, Gibbs was aware of a few things in that moment.

**1.** McGee would never talk to him like that.

**2. **McGee just talked to him like that

**3. **The only reason for him to speak so boldly, was something was very, very wrong.

**4. **He would find out what was wrong, whether Tim liked it or not.

"Sit." Gibbs spoke calmly.

"I don't want to sit."

"Sit, McGee."

"Boss, I'm sorry, I-I don't want to be here."

"Do you want to be held responsible for failure to perform your duty?"

"What duty?" Tim yelled, the tension in the room rising to an unheard of level.

"Sit, McGee. For breaching the security of a protection detail. Now sit."

McGee could have argued further, but decided it was Tony who had said the things that angered him, not Gibbs. So he sat. Gibbs took a seat next to him, rubbing the palms of his hands together as he turned to McGee. Before Tim could speak, Gibbs did.

"I heard what Tony said."

Tim was silent.

"You know DiNozzo, McGee. I'm not justifying his words. I've known him for a long time. When he's worried, he runs his mouth. Even more than usual. He deserves an ass kicking by you, that I get. But don't shut him out completely. I'm trying to hold together the best team NCIS has. Again, it doesn't excuse DiNozzo's words, but can you, just for now, put it aside? Listen to what I said: when he's worried, he runs his mouth. He's worried about you, McGee."

Without hesitation, McGee spoke. "Boss, I have never, since working at NCIS, felt like I couldn't trust any of you. I don't not trust Tony, but it's hard to say I do right now. I… just need some air. Let me go for a walk."

Gibbs scratched his chin. "Take one of the agents outside with you." Gibbs knew that allowing McGee something that he wanted at this moment, any type of freedom,wouldn't exacerbate the situation. While dangerous, and Gibbs hated when his team was in danger, it would be necessary. _Give __McGee __time. _The older man nodded, stood, and left. "Be careful" he said over his shoulder.

McGee sighed, rubbing his eyes. He'd done that so many times the past couple of days. It was only Monday. He thought of Sarah, and how strong she was. But more importantly, how strong she and he had been together. They were the only reason that they themselves weren't impacted detrimentally by their father's abuse. _Why __can__'__t __I __be __strong __like __her? __Or __maybe, __no __one __can __be __as __strong __as __they __have __the __potential __to __be, __alone. __Hmmm __that__'__s __good. __I__'__ll __put __that __in __my __next __novel._

He nodded satisfaction to himself, and headed downstairs. Gibbs, was seated on the couch with Ziva, the woman avoiding eye contact with Tim. Gibbs merely nodded, a faint smile on his face.

_What's that smile for? That's not like Gibbs. Ziva must have told him everything she and Tony talked about. Whatever. Maybe Gibbs, the one I thought I was furthest from, is in fact the closest one to me. I just can't believe Tony. That self-centered, chauvinistic, narcis-_

McGee opened the front door and was all but steam rolled by a running DiNozzo. He ended up with the senior agent on his chest, squinting in pain from where McGee's chin had collided with Tony's eye. Ziva stood up, hand clasped over her mouth, as Gibbs strode over, grabbed both by the collars, and hoisted them up.

"Ow, damn McGee! Why were you in the door?"

"Why were you running Tony?"

"Ahh who just stands there!"

"What grown man runs into houses?"

"I have important news!"

"Oh yeah? Well don't worry about telling me. I'm just McGee right?"

Tony's eyes bulged, but before he could respond, Gibbs cut in.

"Shut up, the both of you! Not another word! Tony, what is the news?"

"I thought you said not another word?"

"Damnit DiNozzo you know what I meant."

"It's ummm, right, uh…" Tony began to frantically search beneath his jacket where Kort's envelope had been.

"Tony, looking for this?" Ziva held the envelope, which had slid underneath the coffee table during the collision.

"Yeah! Boss, that's it. God, I thought I lost it outside somewhere. McGee you're safe. Saw Kort in the park. He knows our guy. Not in the U.S…"

"DiNozzo, shut up!"

"Yeah Boss."

"Thank you!" McGee shot.

"You too McGee"

"Sorry Boss."

Gibbs took the envelope from Ziva and placed it on the coffee table. Gibbs team took a seat on the couch, making sure to place Ziva in the middle, as Gibbs pulled a folding chair out of the closet. He sat down, and opened the envelope. Tony began to explain.

"So, like I said. I don't know why, but Kort was in the park that I walked to. Just right down the street, to the right. That guy just appears out of nowhere, you know? He told me that McGee wasn't in danger, and that our suspect isn't in the country anymore. So you're safe McGee. Protection detail is over." Tony explained, looking anxiously at the envelope, almost biting his nails with anticipation.

Gibbs pulled the contents out. Phone records, email records, copies of passports, a list of last known locations and dates, and finally, a name and picture.

"Mujahid Sharif"

McGee gasped, his eyes wide with fear. He recognized the scar. The mole. The eyes.

"No. No. No!" McGee started yelling, leaping from the couch and backing into the corner of the room. Gibbs and Tony exchanged wild eyed looks, then realized both McGee and Ziva had the same look; disbelief and fear. Ziva trembled slightly as she stared at the picture, as if entranced. Then, as if realizing McGee's reaction, slowly turned to him, a questioning, yet empathetic look on her face.

"No, it can't be! It's not right. He's dead he's dead he's dead. I shot him. I shot him." McGee began to sound like a broken record, but with each repetition, the anxiety in his voice escalated.

"Probie, you-"

"NO, TONY! It always works out in your favor! But for others. Ziva and I. It didn't! Ok? Do you get it now? All you had to do was ask! One God Damn question. Are you okay McGee? But NO! Fucking no! It's the godamn DiNozzo show around here!"

McGee was waving his arms in the air, pointing and spitting. Everyone was standing now, and even the agents stationed outside had gathered round the window, peering in at the chaos.

"Probie I-"

"That's all I am, huh? Just gay Probie! Just little ole McGee! Well life isn't puppy dogs and unicorns, you get that? Do you have scars Tony? Huh? Do you?"

"Well, no not-"

"I figured! Nothing eh? That perfect handsome DiNozzo skin all flawless and unharmed! I shot him. I shot Sharif. I put a round through him as we were escaping. Right through his god damn chest! Tony, you couldn't ask could you?"

"Ask what McGee?" Tony retorted, not too sure what had just happened, realizing he was losing control and possibly his best friend. Of course, he'd never told anyone he felt that way.

"That's just it! You don't even know? Drop it! I shot him. Through the fucking heart."

And with that, McGee stormed off, descending the stairs into the basement. Gibbs made a move, but Ziva firmly held up her hand for him to stop, as she pursued the younger agent. Gibbs calmly watched her descend into the basement, then turned to Tony, whose eyes were still wide with surprise, his hands involuntarily clutching the hair on the back of his head.

"Boss what the hell is with-"

"Sit."

"I don't want to sit."

"Sit, DiNozzo." Gibbs struggled to conceal a smile, realizing he had just had this conversation about 5 minutes ago. _Maybe __they're __not __so __different __after all…_

Finally, DiNozzo sat, as Gibbs took a deep breath, and began to explain the situation. How McGee (and he) had heard the whole conversation Tony and Ziva had had.

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><p><strong>AN: Ok, ok, I know Tony and Tim are in a painful point right now, but just keep reading to find out what happens ;-)**

**BTW, thank you sooooo much for the reviews! They are very encouraging and I am very open to constructive criticism. Cheers!**


	9. Chapter 9

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

**P.S. I DO NOT OWN NCIS, OR ITS CHARACTERS.**

**Warning: Contains Language (Better late than never, I suppose)**

**Pre-Chapter A/N: I HIGHLY recommend listening to John Coltrane's "Too Young To Go Steady", when it is referenced later in this chapter. Kinda will show my inspiration, and hopefully it will take you to the emotion of the moment in the story.**

**Here's the youtube link, .com/watch?v=nHT7KFBJEaw **

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><p>McGee was hyperventilating. When Ziva got down to the basement, he was crouched below the workbench, his hands tightly gripping it above his head with all his might. He hadn't heard Ziva enter. He didn't care.<p>

"McGee."

Her voice broke him out of his panic. In an urgent, jerky motion, he rose, pulling her into one of the tightest hugs she had ever experienced. It wasn't 'Abby suffocatingly' tight, but just enough. He buried his face in her hair. It was his momentary fortress. She fiercely gripped him back, the two clenching each other's shirts in tight fists, as they both, bonded by torture, sobbed in each others' arms.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, and only a second, they released. Their faces were wrought of exhaustion, but absolution, as if this had been a major milestone in the continuing recovery of their battered bodies and spirits.

Without hesitation, McGee took several steps backwards, then turned his back to Ziva. With shaking hands, he unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it gently on the workbench. He then worked his undershirt from beneath his belt and pulled it over his shoulders. Ziva gasped as a new set of tears began to fall.

She never knew. No one knew. _Was__t his __from __Sharif? __Of __course __it __was. __Oh __poor __McGee! __He __didn__'__t __tell __anyone! __Why didn't__he __say __anything? __No __wonder __he __went __to __Tony __and __asked __if __he __had __been __alright. __Tim __assumed __the __same __had __happened __to __him._

Ziva closed the gap between them, as McGee leaned against the wall, staring at his feet. He felt his partners presence behind him as he watched his tears make perfectly round dark spots on the floor.

Her hands, slowly and tenderly, alighted upon his back, and began to trace the pathways of scars. Many of them had healed quite well, and perhaps in some years time, would fade away. But many, would always adorn the gentle man's back. McGee shivered a little. This is not how he had envisioned the first time Ziva touching him... He had hoped… He didn't know what he hoped for…

Expecting loud cursing and venting frustration from the basement, Tony politely interrupted Gibbs. Tony stood, quietly stepping softly down the stairs. His eyes widened at what he saw. Quickly, he waved Gibbs over, who joined him on the stairs, still a bit frustrated at Tony's interruption, but forgetting once he saw McGee. They weren't surprised at Ziva tenderly caressing McGee's back, but what was on his back.

It looked like some twisted checker board from Alice in Wonderland, deep reds, blues, blacks. Tony didn't care that McGee wanted to be private. He knew what needed to be done.

Striding confidently into the basement, both McGee and Ziva turned, surprised that anyone would dare interrupt.

"Tony I don't-" McGee began sternly, when DiNozzo swept him into a hug. McGee's hands stuck out awkwardly from under Tony's underarms, not sure if forgiveness was possible at this moment.

McGee's heart and want for a brother guided his actions.

No longer feeling self conscious about being seen with his shirt off, his wounds exposed, Tim wrapped his arms around the man who truly was, whether he accepted it or not, his best friend. Tim didn't care whether Gibbs saw it as a sign of weakness. He held his best friend, and cried, knowing that maybe, just maybe if Tony had known what happened to him in Somalia, he would have asked. Maybe.

Gibbs had made his way to the workbench and began pouring bourbon into the mason jars. He pulled two additional ones from a drawer, filling the 4 glass receptacles with 3-4 shots of the liquid. With a content smile, he handed one to Ziva, and slid the other two to the edge of the bench for when his two boys stopped hugging. Once they did, the four agents, stood silently, respecting the power of the moment.

Before any of them could say anything, McGee's phone rang. He bashfully pulled it out of his pocket and frowned, not recognizing the number.

"McGee?" he spoke into the receiver.

"Hello Katîb, it has been too long, no?"

McGee froze at the deep accent of the middle eastern man on the other line. "Katîb? I have long awaited to hear your voice. Again" Sharif spoke calmly, with a hint of entertainment.

McGee, not sure what to do, and wanting some way to let his concerned team know waht was going on, switched his phone to speaker, and softly placed it on the workbench.

"I'm here." McGee replied.

"You sound tired, Katîb. Do you sleep? Or do your nightmares keep you up? Nightmares of me." Sharif chuckled and McGee's veins turned to ice.

The team stood in a tense semicircle around the phone as Gibbs quietly pulled a marker from a mug on the workbench and began to write the date and time of the call, as well as the number on the envelope Kort had given Tony.

"No, Sharif." This produced much excitement in the man.

"Ooooh Katîb, you figured my name! I knew you were strong. Intelligent as well. I am fully recovered from when you shot me, you should know. A good shot, no? Not good enough, Katîb."

"U-um ok." McGee stuttered. _No! __God __Damn__it __Tim! __You __will __not __be __afraid __of __this __man __and __what __he __did __to __you. __He __will __pay __for __these __scars! __Show __some __backbone!_

Tony frowned, as he saw McGee's upper lip begin to quiver.

"Where are you Sharif? I am looking forward to seeing you again." McGee mustered Tony's confidence, Ziva's intensity, and Gibbs' stoicism.

"Well, my friend, memory. Is where you can find me."

And just as soon as it had begun, the call ended. Sharif hung up the phone, leaving the team in silence. Gibbs, slowly but steadily, wrote, in large letters at the bottom of the envelope 'MEMORY', and circled it a few times.

He focused on that word. Memory. That powerful word. A word that could create and destroy. A word of recollection and nostalgia, as well as regret. A word that can, if used improperly, ruin a life.

**MEMORY**

A word for Gibbs, that reminded him not only of the past, but also what was taken from him for the future. His beautiful daughter, and the only woman he truly loved with all his heart.

A word for Tony, that included things that may or may not be true. One of pain and insecurity; of a mother who wasn't there, and a father who chose not to be. A word of missed opportunities, and temporary remedies.

A word for Ziva, that was synonymous with her father, and most of her family. A word that reminded her of her weaknesses, her frailty, her mortality, and her fears. A word that she shut out of her life, like a story book from when she was a little girl.

A word for Tim, That was a lie (depending on who was thinking about it). A word regarding beatings by one who should have been a role model. Of introversion and timidity; of rejection and heartbreak; of a knife carving his skin like canvas.

_Knife? Knife? Wait, something about a knife… Saturday night? I was using a knife… I remember it in my hand. It was wobbly… I remember the clanking of it falling. Repeatedly. I kept picking it up. But it kept falling. Why did it keep falling? When was I using-_

"Alright team." Gibbs spoke, finally able to tear his eyes away from the circled word on the envelope. "Everyone is staying here tonight. Still. Everyone get some sleep, we're gonna need it." And with that, he picked up the envelope, and headed upstairs.

"Woo! Finally sleep." Tony laughed, but then threw McGee a concerned look.

"We'll talk soon Tony. Not tonight." McGee told the older man, understanding and a chance for forgiveness in his voice. Tony smiled, nodding respect, and followed Gibbs upstairs.

"Ziva, hold on." Ziva, who had been behind Tony, turned smiling to McGee, who was pulling on his undershirt. As soon as he had it on, he smiled warmly at her, not being able to resist one more hug with Thee Ziva David. They embraced, Tim rubbing Ziva's back.

The ex-mossad officer felt something warm growing inside her. As she always had when that feeling arose, she pushed it down. But it kept rising. The strong woman, never having experienced a man quite like Timothy McGee before, tried desperately to keep her emotions in check. She grit her teeth, willing herself not to cry, and succeeded. But oddly enough, she knew it wasn't simply her desire to cry that she had to halt. She couldn't do it. She couldn't hold on. She couldn't stop her mind from racing.

_How long have we been hugging? Why are we hugging so much? Why does he feel so… comfortable. McGee? McGee? Tim? Timothy? No Middle-Name? Why does he…? Oh god! No. I can't! He's… what is he? I can't let myself…_

Her thoughts were interrupted by by a loud snorting sound from McGee. Ziva, startled, pushed back from him questioningly.

"McGee! Did you just… smell my hair?"

"Yes, Ziva. I did." He replied with a sheepish grin.

"Ummm so, why? Does it smell bad?" Ziva wrapped a handful of hair around her face to smell it. Smelled like her conditioner. Lavender.

McGee had a goofy smile on his face, blushing to the tips of his ears as he looked at his feet, kicking imaginary pebbles on the ground. The Deja Vu. McGee knew where it was coming from now. Despite the potentially very serious predicament that he was now in, he couldn't help but smile at the memories coming back to him. He just hoped it wouldn't change anything. Or maybe it would. No, Tim would like it to change everything.

**Xxx Flashback xxX**

The door slammed, and Ziva sat up on McGee's couch. She had been close to passing out from all the alcohol, but woke with a start when, about an hour after McGee's departure to bring one of the girls from the parking lot home, he returned. He had a disheveled look about him; sadness was in his eyes. Slowly, he walked in, avoiding Ziva's gaze. He was no longer staggering so heavily, just a severely imbalanced. Ziva moved over on the couch, giving her partner room to sit. As he did, he let out an exacerbated sigh, running his hands through messy hair.

"Ziva, do you think that there's a purpose t-to the thingss that happen to us? Do we go (hiccup) go through humiliation, an' waiting, an' heartbreak for reasons, a reason?"

Ziva gave Tim her full attention. He was opening up to her. This was private McGee, and he was letting her in. Her heart began to race as she jumped to conclusions.

"You know, is there somefthin wrong with me? I mean, women complain about 'chivalry being dead' then when they haff an opportunity with a chiffelrous guy, they don't want me. Isss dumb."

"Yes Tim it is. Not all women are like that."

"Like who? Give me a name an' I'll marry her right here!" Tim blurted, calling Ziva's bluff. Her eyebrows narrowed, and she dropper her eyes to her lap. Suddenly, Tim looked into the air, a surprised look on his face.

"Did you put music on? Coltrane!" Ziva only smiled coyly.

John Coltrane's "Too Young To Go Steady" emanated soothingly from McGee's record player, filling the room with warmth and comfort. This song, above all the countless songs he owned on vinyl, relaxed him the most.

"Ziva, I'm sorry, but can I… w-will you dance with me? Juss a slow dance." He rose to his feet, somewhat unsure of himself, but nonetheless, held out his hand to his partner. She smiled up at him, a tinge of disbelief, but a shine in her eyes he'd never seen before. Cooly, just like Coltrane himself, McGee led her to the largest open space in his apartment, which was conveniently right beside his record player. He pulled Ziva against himself, gently wrapping his arms midway around her hips as she reached up and over his shoulders. Smoothly, as the music bled sweet notes throughout the apartment, the two sway, Ziva's cheek against McGee's chest, his cheek atop her head. If it weren't for the overwhelming comfort that McGee felt, his head would have been spinning from the alcohol. But, miraculously, he maintained his composure.

It was a moment that lasted eons, and milliseconds. The room was dim, as the two agents moved, their shadows sweeping across Jethro, who looked up from his doggie bed wonderingly. The canine breathed deep, sighing heavy like his owner, realizing that the two people whom he enjoyed the most in the world were dancing. In his simple mind, he smiled, tail slightly wagging as he observed the casual, yet quite surprising spectacle.

As the song faded out, and the telltale static of a record at its end, the couple stopped swaying, but didn't release their hold on each other. At that moment, McGee became self conscious. Almost sensing it, Ziva released him, big brown eyes of wonder looking up at the gentle man.

"Thank you, Mah-Gee."

"Y-you're welcome Zeev."

A moment of silence passed, and McGee became nervous, his mind, although thoroughly inebriated, raced.

_Oh my god, I just danced with Ziva! We were close. We held each other. What does that mean? Nothing, Tim. It's just a drunk dance. Just a drunk dance. I will remember this till the day I die! Oh my god, I just danced with Ziva! _

Ziva, sensing the man's mental gears churning, decided it would be best not to allow him to dwell on what just happened, even though it would remain one of her fondest memories. She blurted out words, yet wished the dance could have lasted forever.

"Mah-Gee. You are a f-feder-eral agent. You must know how to throw a knife!"

Before he could object, she grabbed his hand, pulling him into the bedroom, closing the door. She led him to the window, then turned, removing a knife concealed from somewhere unknown. After a few deadly and precise throws of the knife into McGee's wall by his door, she grabbed his hand, showing him the proper way to move his arm, flick his wrist, spin the blade.

After a few unsuccesful attempts (and near falls as McGee tried to pick the blade up), he began to get the hang of it, the blade sinking deeper and deeper into the drywall with each stroke. McGee nodded with confidence, staggered over to the blade, and pulled it from the wall. Turning as he spoke, he found Ziva right behind him.

"Z, I think I'm-"

Her lips passionately locked with his. McGee let out a sound of surprise. It was like a muffled whimper, that turned to an equally passionate "hmmm-mmm". He tossed the knife to the ground, wrapping his arms about the woman's small frame.

Typically, and inhibited, his mind would have been screaming in resistance. It would have told him how wrong this was. How he was taking advantage of a drunk friend. A drunk best friend. His mind would have told him to think about what he was doing, the repercussions this action would have, Rule 12. His mind would have told him that he was taking advantage of her because she trusted him with comfort after Somalia. It would have told him that he was a bad friend, and a bad partner for cupping his hands underneath her bottom, lifting her easily, and placing her on the bed as they undressed. It would have told him that he didn't deserve to see Ziva naked. It would have told him that he should put the condom back, take a deep breath, think about things, hold on, talk about it, pump the brakes, put on a movie, play jenga.

But his heart said, "I love you" as they gave in to throes of passion, her innocent, vulnerable, beautiful brown eyes looking up at him during their lovemaking. His heart said, "No matter that you're drunk, you've loved her for some time now. The way she makes you feel. And not just that she's an exotic, dangerous assassin/coworker, but a fellow human being, with which you've shared much. You love her, Tim" his heart said.

For one of the few times in his life, Timothy No Middle-Name McGee gave into his heart, pushing his troublesome mind out of the room, to sulk in the living room.

**Xxx End Flashback xxX**

McGee tensed as Ziva looked at him wonderingly, her lips pursed.

"You remember don't you?" She whispered, leaning against the workbench, a confident smile on her face. McGee simply nodded, fearful as to where the conversation would lead to next. His mind took over.

_Was I bad? Did I last long enough for her? Was she embarrassed? Did she feel taken advantage of? Was it just casual? Is she ok with it, but won't want anything else? Does she still see me as just a friend? How am I gonna fix the knife marks in the wall? Did Jethro see? Oh god, we didn't! What if it's awkward at work? What if Gibbs knows? Oh, who am I kidding, he probably always does. Him and his ESP. Damnit boss, get out of my thoughts! I am going to really develop feelings, I always do when I sleep with someone. This is not good. It's just going to lead to heartbreak. It's just going to lead to heartbreak. Just like Abby! I've slept with two coworkers. Oh shit, Tony! If he finds out, he'll feel so backstabbed. He'll feel betrayed. A relationship I mean. Oh god I-_

"McGee!" Ziva softly slapped his cheek. As if woken from a coma, McGee blinked, glancing around.

"Sorry, I just-"

"Was over thinking things, yes?"

Ziva's saw hurt in his eyes. _Over thinking things. That must mean that she sees it as casual, nothing serious. Nothing to over think about. It was just sex._

But it wasn't to her, either.

"Oh god, Ziva, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to take advantage of you! I'm not like that. Not like, guys like that. I just, I was really drunk."

McGee tried to read her mind, tried to backtrack and cover his basis.

"It didn't mean anything Ziva." He blurted, and saw her frown. It killed him to see her frown.

"Didn't mean anything, McGee? You are a terrible liar." She pushed the pain of his confession away, hoping that he was, in fact, lying. And she was rewarded. McGee looked at his feet.

"Yeah, you're right." he said softly. "I guess it did mean something to me. But if it didn't to you, that's totally ok! I mean, nothing needs to change! It will just be normal, everything will be fine. We'll just forget it. Again"

She loved it when he babbled nervously. It was one of the quirks of the man that attracted her to him. As well as his thoughtfulness, his ferocious loyalty, his intense work ethic, his protective nature, his gentleman qualities.

"I will never forget that night, McGee."

"So. Then… What do we do now?" He still looked at his feet. Ziva stepped forward, till they were inches apart, and raised his face with her fingers. His deep green eyes met soft, beautiful brown ones that he'd die for. Almost did. That he was tortured for.

"I believe, if I know you, that you are not the type for a one night stand. Especially with a coworker. So what do you do when you find yourself in this situation with other women?"

McGee thought for a moment, about the humiliating past experiences he'd had.

"Well, normally I'd ask the girl on a date. But usually she just says she's busy, or she's got a boyfriend already (he shuddered at that specific time), or I'm not her type to be dating, or that she's leaving the country, or that she needs to get a haircut, or that-"

"Then ask me out on a date." Her smile was strong, as her aura seemed to give him strength.

"Ummm ok. Ziva David, will you, umm," _oh __god, __that __sounds __like __I__'__m __proposing __to __her! __Real __smooth __Tim!_

"Will you- Would you like to go out to dinner with me sometime? After the case of course."

Her eyes danced as she pulled him into a hug, kissed his cheek, and whispered in his ear, "I would love to, Tim."

"You two done down there? You need to get sleep!" Gibbs barked from the stairs.

The two separated quickly, looking down. "You're gonna need it, I made some phone calls. We're going back to Somalia."

Both agents gasped, fear replacing their surprise.

"Boss?"

"You wanna rid yourself of those demons? I called Kort. Pulled some strings. Sharif is in Somalia. Get some rest, we're leaving tomorrow."

Ziva and Tim watched as Gibbs plodded back up the stairs, then turned to each other, unsure what to say. After a few moments, McGee grit his teeth, a look in his eyes like one Ziva had never seen before.

"Let's finish this."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I apologize to Tiva lovers, but just felt that this direction is the way the story was headed. **

**And Tony and Tim on the mend! Woohoo!**


	10. Chapter 10

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**Please Review (not just fishing, want to know if i'm doing this right)  
><strong>

**I hope you enjoy!**

**P.S. I DO NOT OWN NCIS, OR ITS CHARACTERS.**

**Warning: Contains Language (Better late than never, I suppose)**

* * *

><p>It was mid afternoon when the agents arrived at the airfield. The flight from D.C. To Somalia would take a tedious 16 hours. Gibbs had let them sleep long into the morning, knowing that after such a traumatic night, they needed the rest. And now, here they were. They walked out onto the tarmac, dressed casually, yet bringing with them their crime scene equipment. They all knew that they wouldn't be need it though.<p>

In front of them, sat an enormous airplane, the same kind that had taken them home from Somalia the first time. The cargo door in the rear was lowered, and airmen in jumpsuits were carrying boxes of equipment on board. Others were backing a bulky looking jeep up the ramp and into the hold. The team had an aura of grim silence about them as they walked. Out from the cargo hold, Trent Kort appeared.

"Agent Gibbs."

"Kort."

"Come now, I understand we don't have the best relationship, but I'm… trying to help here."

"In a recipricationatorilly altima type of way." Tony shot. Kort sighed.

"It's reciprocally altruistic type of way, DiNozzo."

"Whatever."

"So Kort, what do you want? Really. Why are you doing this?" Gibbs decided to cut the formalities.

Kort rubbed his chin, his eyes black behind a pair of aviator sunglasses.

"You'll know when I ask. Just take care of Sharif for me. Your agent, agents, can rest easy afterwards, and I can cross a face off the terrorist watch list. Nothing underhanded about it, I assure you."

Gibbs remained skeptical, eyes thin, trying to detect any trace of malign or dishonest intention. While the older agent had learned to read Kort after heir multiple encounters, he did not see any indication of foul play.

"Alright Kort, we're in. You have our equipment."

"State of the art."

"Good, anything else we should know?"

"Well, Somalia is a hotspot, as you know. But we'll talk on the plane. I'm going with you, I'll run through the Op details on the way."

At that, the 4 propellors of the C-130 began to lumber to life, a plume of exhaust belching from the engines. It felt like the whole tarmac began to shake as the enormous machine rose to life. Kort turned his head, watching the propellors gain speed, then turned back to the agents.

"Shall we?"

* * *

><p>"DiNozzo! With me!" Gibbs called, summoning Tony to the Op room. The three younger agents had been milling about in the cargo hold about 2 hours after take off. They were currently somewhere over the Atlantic; The Bermuda Triangle, as Tony had repeatedly pointed out to McGee. Tony addressed Gibbs, following him up a set of metal stairs to the front of the plane and into a door.<p>

McGee watched him go, silently hoping that he wouldn't have to be left alone with Ziva. While they had talked a little about their current situation the night before, he was still apprehensive about everything; still guilty for what he'd done Saturday night.

"Are you avoiding me, McGee?" Ziva questioned him, following him and taking a seat next to him against the side of the plane.

"Uh, no, Z-Ziva, of course n-not. Just, uh, you know… how are you?" She laughed.

"I am well. And you."

"Good. Good. I'm good. Gooooood. Yup, I'm good."

"Do you normally look scared when Tony leaves? I thought you were mad at him."

"Well, I am, still, kinda. Not totally anymore. Just, a little confused. I guess it's my fault for not understanding how he is, you know? Running his mouth when he gets nervous. And we all know, he sometimes doesn't mean what he says. It just hurt, alot."

"I understand."

"You understand?"

"Well, McGee, I understand where you are coming from in your view of him. I do not understand your exact situation."

"Mmm-hmm."

Ziva stared intently at the man. McGee. This man, was a mystery, a puzzle. Maybe all three of them didn't know each other the way they thought. One can only learn so much about a coworker at work. It takes the extracurricular activities. Going out. Getting drinks. Just spending time together.

In a career of which stress levels tend to soar, there is no excuse to not knowing how a coworker will react. All three of them were guilty for that.

To Ziva's surprise, McGee spoke, but the question startled her.

"So, why did you call me Saturday night? Was it just to help with Tony?"

Mcgee was frowning as he looked, pleadingly, with those huge gorgeous green eyes. _My god, if he only knew what he could get with simply that look… _Ziva thought. She cleared her throat, then confessed.

"Well, initially, yes." She wasn't going to lie. She had persuaded Tony to call McGee Saturday night (not calling herself, for fear she'd come off as desperate), so that he could help her keep control of the older agent. McGee looked into his lap, nodding."

"So then why are we going on a date, Ziva? Tell me that. You didn't want to hang out with me. You didn't want to include me in Saturday night drinks. So why would you want to go on a date with me? Pity? Oh God, it's a pity date isn't it? It's to keep everything casual around work. Or it's for Gibbs. I mean, it's fine, I guess I've come to expect not being called on a weekend, but I thought we were close…"

McGee continued talking, but Ziva tuned him out for a moment, becoming engrossed in her own thoughts. _Does he realize what he's saying right now? We'll Ziva, you do deserve that. He's so cute when he rambles. Just puttering along. It looked like he'd been working out alot too. He looks good._

"...and it's just that I'm the tech guy and Gibbs…"

_And he just keeps on talking. Ziva, say something! Why are you nervous? Why is this so hard? What are you afraid of?_

"...I just don't understand why you said I was single in the recording, I mean, what…"

_It can't be that obvious, is it? Maybe that's it. Maybe it's that, he's always been there, he's been constant. He's been kind. Kindness. Hmmm, that is a quality not men have. _

"...Because it was like you sounded jealous, and if that's it, then why not want to hang out with me? It's like, I'm not even going to…"

"TIM!" Ziva just about jumped out of her seat. Tim, who had worked himself up to the point of sweating, stared at her like a deer before headlights.

"Tim," she said softer, "Firstly, I did not call you Saturday, because Tony won a bet. Whether or not Ducky's tea has liquor in it. His terms, was that I take him out for drinks. You can ask him yourself. It was not excluding you, just paying for a bet. Secondly, it is not a pity date. I…" She paused, realizing what she was about to say, and the changes it may cause in the MCRT dynamic.

"...I want to go on a date with you. No, McGee, Tim, I would LOVE to go on a date with you. It's that, you have been… constant. You are kind. I have been surrounded by tough, primal, rough men all my life. You have immense strength. Especially when carrying your burdens. And you are loyal. I have yet to meet, now, or in Mossad, someone more ferociously loyal than you…"

McGee couldn't believe what he was hearing! While still listening, the gears in his mind began turning.

_Ziva. Ziva David would LOVE to go on a date with me? Tim? Timothy McGee? The Tech Guy? What on earth is happening right now?_

"...but what I've realized is that, what I look for, is a man who is in fact strong…"

_Oh my god, she called me strong! I'm constant! I'm kind! There's no way I'm going to stop sweating now! I'm blushing, I know it! God I'm so happy. I want to just lean over and kiss her right now!_

"...and I hope you are not frightened, but they say the best lovers are best friends, and I consider you…"

_Lovers? Lovers? I thought this was just a date! I'm going to pass out. I'm going to pass out. I'm going to pass out. I'm going to pass out. Keep breathing, Tim… Nope that's not working. I'm going to pass out. I'm going to pass out. I'm going to pass out. I'm going to pass out. I'm going to pass out. I'm going to pass out. I'm going to pass out. I'm going to pass out._

"...now, I hope that wasn't too forward, and I'm sure we'll enjoy our date. No expectations. Just best friends, being romantic. And we can take it one day at a time. Because, the truth is, McGee- ah, Tim. Still getting used to that. The truth is, that you were the first one to befriend me when I came to NCIS. Even though the pain of Kate's death was still in your heart, you were able to open your heart a bit more to let me in, even though I was replacing someone you looked up to. And that, McGee, is why… Why I have feelings for you. Because you are the type of man to see someone, anyone, as a friend. To welcome them, make them comfortable, befriend them, and always stand by them. I…"

Ziva stopped, realized she hadn't taken a single breath during her monologue, and inhaled sharply.

_Oooh! That feels so good to get it off my chest! I really have feelings for this man. There I said it! Ooooh I haven't felt like this in so long! This feels right! Oh, it feels so right! I wonder what he's thinking about?_

McGee stared at Ziva, who had put her hand on his knee sometime during the conversation. His mouth hung open. His face was getting tingly. His stomach was in knots, and his vision was beginning to blur. _Seriously, what the hell just happened here, he thought as his face grew tingly, slumping forward, and falling of the seat._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know, I know, McGee and Tony using assault rifles. It may seem farfetched, but I think it fits them well (for the situation and the location).**


	11. Chapter 11

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**Please Review (not just fishing, want to know if i'm doing this right)**

**I hope you enjoy!**

**P.S. I DO NOT OWN NCIS, OR ITS CHARACTERS.**

**Warning: Contains Language (Better late than never, I suppose)**

* * *

><p>McGee's eyes opened slowly. Crouched above him, were Ziva, Tony, Gibbs, and Kort. There faces were a mixture of surprise and a tinge of humor.<p>

"Seriously Z, what dod you say to him?" Tony asked, chuckling.

"Nothing Tony, he just fainted." A slight smile played on her lips, her eyes glowing. McGee smiled as he sat up, the wooziness fading away as he began to feel better.

"McGee, you good to go?"

"Yeah Boss." McGee rose to his feet, realizing that Ziva was holding his hand. He blushed slightly.

"Alright then, you guys get some rest, we still have a long way to go." Gibbs commanded, then he and Kort turned, heading to the Op room.

The three agents sat, strapping themselves into the seats attached to the side of the cargo hold.

"No passing out in the field, McFainter." Tony joked. "And Ziva, stop scaring McGee. We all know you're a big bad assassin, but seriously, he's our wee probie; I'm protective."

McGee smiled. He didn't feel ready to talk to Tony about what he had said last night, but soon. Maybe after their meeting with Sharif was over, and they were out of harm's way. He leaned his head back against the wall of the plane, closing his eyes as he began to be lulled to sleep by the vibrations of the C-130's engines.

* * *

><p>"You know, you look seasick McVomit! We're in a plane! A C-130 Hercules, not a dingy in the middle of the ocean! Yeah, I looked that up before boarding! So I could school you in knowldge" Tony yelled over the sound of the propellers roaring outside the fuselage. The team was strapped securely in seats in the cargo hold within the large aircraft, on its way to Somalia. In the center of the hold, was a jeep, outfitted with armor plating, bullet resistant windows, refilling puncture resistant tires, and other features making it much more than simply a jeep. Gibbs was somewhere else inside the plane, finalizing plans for their meeting with Sharif. McGee, who had been looking paler than usual, gave Tony a glare.<p>

"Tony, leave him alone."

"And I'm not seasick Tony. Or airsick. I'm just… nervous about this mission."

Tony's grin erased quickly, replaced with a stern, but caring look.

"Probie, I got your six. Yours and Ziva's. It will be no problem. We'll go in there, apprehend Sharif, and get out. Done and done. What do you think this button does?"

"Tony Don't!"

Tony pushed a large red button on the wall over his left shoulder. A cacophonous metallic shriek deafened the hold, as the cargo gate of the C-130 began to descend, the brightness of day sliced through the darkness. Wind swept in as the gate lowered, revealing the incredible altitude they were currently flying at. All three agents were mesmerized at the Atlantic Ocean, miles and miles below them. The whirlwind within the hold made it difficult to speak. Fortunately, everything was tied down tight within the craft.

"T-o-o-o-o-n-n-n-n-y c-c-l-l-l-l-o-o-o-o-s-s-e the-the do-o-o-o-r!" Mcgee yelled, the wind whipping across his face. Tony just stared out the back of the plane for a moment, then reached and hit the button again. The hydraulic sound came again, as the cargo gate began to close. A rectangle of light shrunk and disappeared as the gate closed.

"Oooh-hoo-hoo!" Tiny yelled, grinning wildly. "That was awe-"

"DiNozzo!" Ziva snapped, "You do not have experience in these. Someone or something could have been sucked out! Do you even think about the things you do?"

"Heh, I do now. Wow. We're high up! You see how high up we are McGee? Hey, I know! After this, I'm taking you skydiving Probie! Wow. You'd fall for HOURS!"

McGee had resumed his silent, eyes closed, ignoring Tony state. DiNozzo continued talking to himself excitedly.

"You ok, Tim?" Ziva asked, patting his knee. Tony looked from around Ziva.

"Did you just call him Tim? When did this happen? You patted his knee. McGee, are you going to throw up? Here if you need to throw up, I'll open the gate and hold your belt. You can throw up out the back. Imagine that! Woooo! 30,000 foot vomit bomb! 30,000 foot PROBIE vomit bomb. That's great! McGee you want to?"

McGee smiled at Ziva, chuckling slightly at Tony's idea. "Yeah Ziva, I'm good. Just want to take care of all this."

"We will Tim. We will."

"Alright everyone! Gather round! We're gearing up. DiNozzo, don't press buttons."

"Yeah Boss."

Gibbs descended into the hold from a door towards the front of the plane. His team unclipped themselves from their seats, walking shakily towards a cargo bin that was behind the jeep. As the team approached it, Gibbs unclipped the top, folding it back.

"Gear up."

Within the cargo bin was equipment that McGee never thought he'd ever wear or use, Tony only dreamt of, and Ziva was very familiar with. Dragon Skin military issue bullet proof vests, tactical vests, shooting glasses, volume controlling earphones with built in microphones, Kevlar tactical kneepads, combat boots and other tactical accessories.

"Wow."

"I know, Probie. Wow."

"Ok, Ziver, you tell these knuckleheads how all this gear is used. We have about an hour and a half till we land. And we're not in friendly territory. I'm getting the final details of the mission together, as well as making sure the foreign intelligence liaisons in the area have our backs." And with that, Gibbs bounded up the steel stairs, disappearing through the door that he came.

Tony and Tim looked at each other nervously, as Ziva pulled two M-4 Carbine rifles and slings from the box, tossing them to the two gawking agents. They held the weapons in surprise, then, silently thanking Gibbs for the assault rifle training he had taught them, began inspecting the weapons.

"Looks like we're in the big leagues now McGoo."

"Yeah." Tim spoke deeply. "Yeah we are."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know, I know, McGee and Tony using assault rifles. It may seem farfetched, but I think it fits them well (for the situation and the location).**


	12. Chapter 12

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

**P.S. I DO NOT OWN NCIS, OR ITS CHARACTERS.**

**Warning: Contains Language and Violence.**

* * *

><p>"Alright gents! And lady. Drop off will be approximately 22 clicks southwest of Saleem's old compound. We, uh, don't actually have permission for this Op, but no harm no foul if we don't actually land." Kort spoke, a bit of humor in his voice. While Gibbs, and his team for that matter, weren't actually some of his favorite people, he was killing two birds with one favor. Gain himself leverage for a favor by Gibbs in the future, and keep fellow CIA agents free from harm. And hell, he had never been a particularly nice guy, maybe he'd try doing something pleasant.<p>

In the Op Room aboard the C-130, the team was crowded around a translucent blue table with an illuminated topographical map of Saleem's old compound. A red "X" indicated their approximate drop off point.

"You'll be traversing via jeep along these back roads. Should take you 20 or so minutes, given the terrain." Kort's fingers traced the roadway as it led through some hills and villages, before becoming more remote.

"Those villages safe?" Gibbs asked sternly. Kort snorted.

"Nothing about Somalia is safe. Alright, dustoff will be 2 hours exactly after your tires touch sand. Don't be late. Any questions?"

The team shook heads. They were all clad in dusty tan fatigues, bulletproofing, tactical vests, kneepads, and communication pieces. Their rifles hung from slings attached to clips on their vests in front of them. Tony was currently trying to untangle his, while McGee couldn't get his knepads to sit right. Tony had insisted on wearing a bandana (like Rambo). Only Gibbs stood out, looking identical to the way he had last time he'd been in Somalia. The tan and grey gillie suit made him look like a walking bush. A very lethal, walking bush.

"Alright, then. We'll be keeping an eye on you from the air. If we get any signatures of large, potentially hostile forces in the area, we'll let you know. But hopefully we won't have to resort to Plan B." Kort chuckled, nodded to them, then exited through a door towards the cockpit. As he did, over the plane's intercom the pilot's voice echoed.

"Whiskey 1-1 Actual, we are approaching Landing Zone Charlie. E.T.A., 17 minutes."

Gibbs nodded to his team, Whiskey 1-1 Actual, as they exited the Op Room, reemerging into the hold. Gibbs and Tony unclipped the jeep's frame from the floor of the hold as McGee and Ziva hurriedly slid the cargo bin to the side of the plane, fastening it to the floor again. Tony hopped into the front seat of the jeep, and McGee took the passenger seat. Gibbs and Ziva entered into the back. They all sat quietly, looking through the windshield at the cargo gate at the rear of the plane.

"I have to go to the bathroom." Tony announced

Gibbs groaned, "Go! Now!"

Tony jumped out of the jeep, running to the nearest restroom on the plane. Gibbs simply shook his head.

"So, uh, Boss, what did Kort mean by 'we don't actually land'?" McGee asked.

"Exactly what it sounds like, McGee. The pilot's gonna bring us down low, at a slow enough speed, give us the green light, and we're gonna drive out the back."

"Oh."

"Can you handle that McGee?"

"Oh yeah. If I wanna rid myself of these demons."

"Good, McGee."

"Boss?"

"Yeah?"

"What's Plan B?"

"Fight like hell to the coast."

"Oh."

"Can you handle that?"

"Yeah, I think so"

"Think so?"

"Know so."

"Good."

After what had seemed like hours, Tony returned, too anxious to be cracking jokes. They all returned to staring at the gate, checking and rechecking their weapons and com devices. Before any of them felt ready though, a member of the flight staff, donned in a flight jumpsuit and bulky helmet walked past the jeep to the button that Tony had pressed earlier. He clipped himself into the side of the hold beside the button, adjusted the microphone on his helmet, and spoke.

"(static) Gooood morning Vietnam!"

"Oooh! I like this guy!" Tony yelled.

"Whiskey 1-1, my name is Dawkins, and I'll be your doorman for this Op. Don't forget to tip." Dawkins chuckled at the joke as the team saw a broad smile from underneath the helmet's dark visor. "Do you copy?"

"Copy Dawkins." Came four voices, one after the other. Dawkins smile grew even larger. He gave a gloved thumbs up.

"Whiskey 1-1, we have 30 seconds till gate breach. Approximately 1 minute till touchdown. Then you have control, copy?"

"Copy."

After an eternal 30 seconds, Dawkins spoke again.

"Hercules Seven-Four, rear gate opening. On purpose this time."

Tony blushed as Dawkins punched the button, eliciting the same screeching metallic and hydraulic sound from before. In a moment, the gate was completely open, revealing Somalia. Grey and tan mountains and hills loomed through the rear gate, and fell away from them as the enormous airplane descended towards Landing Zone Charlie. The team knew they were close to earth when they saw an enormous plume of dust swirling behind the plane, as if chasing it in cyclonic fashion. The abandoned airfield raced beneath and past them, as Tony started the engine.

"Whiskey 1-1! Go! Go! Go!" Dawkins pointed repeatedly towards the open gate as McGee held his breath, and Tony punched the accelerator. The jeep lurched forward, grinding down the lowered gate that slid along the dirt. The front tires hit the airfield hard. The jeep bounced slightly, as Tony wrestled the steering wheel, spinning the vehicle around in a fashion Sean Connory would envy.

They were once again in Somalia. To end things.

Without wasting any time, Tony raced the jeep along the airfield, weaving through craters from the shelling of some ancient forgotten war, as the C-130 climbed in front of them. Dawkins leaned out, waving to them as he called through the mic,

"Whiskey 1-1, take care of business. We'll catch you at 1434 hours. Good luck and Godspeed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I like to think Tony is awesome enough to drive a jeep out of the back of a C-130 :)**

**Preview/Hint for one of the following chapters:**

Tony stepped out in front of the door, braced himself, and kicked the door in. The old thing broke from it's hinges, thundering down to the floor, scattering the dust of forgotten souls throughout the hall. Ziva, leading with her rifle, entered. With McGee tight on her six and Tony taking up the rear, the senior agent cast one last glance behind him, then stepped into the shadows of the compound...

**Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing! I hope you're having as much fun reading as I am writing!**


	13. Chapter 13

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**Please Review (not just fishing, want to know if i'm doing this right)**

**I hope you enjoy!**

**P.S. I DO NOT OWN NCIS, OR ITS CHARACTERS.**

**Warning: Contains Language**

**And a kind thanks to all those who've reviewed! much love!**

* * *

><p>"No going back now." Tony whispered to himself as the C-130 became a small dot in the sky above them. "McGee, get me goin in the right direction."<p>

Gibbs handed McGee a topographical map and a compass as the jeep slowed to a halt. It took the young agent only a few moments to identify the landmarks and points of interest that Gibbs had scrawled in sharpie on the map as points of reference. Quickly he orientated the map appropriately, looked ahead of them, and pointed.

"Ok Tony, that broken radar tower, there should be a dirt road beyond that. That's the back road that we need to take."

In an instant, the jeep leapt in the direction of McGee's finger, propelling them towards an old antenna tower that had not been able to withstand whatever bombs the airfield faced. It stood slanted, with the quarter of it hanging by wires. It oscillated slowly in the wind, like an enormous metronome, or some sinister grandfather clock. Beyond it, were two large hills that looked like they belonged on Mars. The road was between them. Littered along the airfield were pieces of war machinery. Tanks, jeeps, weapons, bones. Parts of the earth were still scorched black from explosives. The team was silent.

As the jeep passed the antenna, the team watched it, as if the souls of whoever was taken from the earth on that day, would too, be watching. A chill ran up McGee's spine.

"Hurry up Tony, I want to get away from the airfield. We're, uh, exposed."

"Got it, McGee."

The jeep wound it's way through the hills of Somalia, the dusty orange earth swirling about in a breathless wind. Eventually, the road led through a small shanty village. If one felt a knowledge of poverty in the U.S., they knew nothing of poverty elsewhere. McGee had never seen such dismal living circumstances. Shanty homes with sheet metal walls and thatched roofs, many with holes in them, were littered about in an unorganized fashion. Villagers watched from within the huts, clad in dirty clothes that were most likely their only set. Tony suddenly felt ashamed for the amount of money he spent on some of his clothes. McGee shared the same silent guilt.

The intense eyes of the villagers, many of which cradled weapons, stared after the jeep in distrust, as if any stranger was to be regarded as an enemy.

"Problem, Boss."

"Yeah, DiNozzo?"

"Just saw a guy in the rear view watch after us. Pulled out what looked like a cell phone."

"McGee, can you trace it?" Gibbs pulled from between himself and Ziva a heavy duty briefcase, and tossed it on McGee's lap. McGee quickly opened it, revealing a computer built into the case. He typed rapidly, the screen shifting back and forth along an areal map of the area. Then, the computer beeped, small red brackets highlighting a section of the town they had just driven through.

"Ummm yeah Boss, that was definitely a cell phone. Satellite phone. The call is already ended, but I'll trace the the receiving phone too."

McGee typed feverishly as he bounced up and down in the passenger seat. Gibbs had grabbed the map from him and was keeping an eye on the road ahead and the map and compass in his hands.

"Ok Boss, got it. The receiving phone was Sharif's. The same number he called me with. Probably letting him know we're coming." McGee took a deep breath to calm his nerves. It didn't help.

"So we are expected." Ziva calmly said. The Israeli was used to Ops such as this. Or, at least missions of this nature. She was cool, calm, collected. There was even a grin on her face, perhaps recollection of the painful, yet exciting life she used to lead. Her teeth were grit with satisfaction of the impending kill.

"Alright DiNozzo, stop here." Gibbs pointed to a small turnout on the road beneath a large hill. As the jeep ground to a labored halt, Gibbs unlatched the door, hopping out.

"I'll be up there." he pointed to the top of the hill. "Providing overwatch. Ziva, hand me my rifle."

Ziva grasped the long sniper rifle, complete with camouflaging artificial leaves made from a burlap type of material. The moment Gibbs would lay down in the sandy brush, he would disappear.

"You stay safe, stay in contact." and with that, Gibbs was gone, making his way into the brush up the hill. Like some indigenous creature, he vanished like a ghost.

"Let's go Tony. Let's do this."

Tony looked to McGee in surprise. Tim grit his teeth, a look of foreboding intensity covered his typically pleasant face. It was a look DiNozzo had never seen before. _He__'__s __no __longer __just __Probie. __This __right __here, __is __a __man. __An __honorable __man. __A __brave __man, __willing __to __face __death, __to __face __his __demons __head __on. _This man, Tony's best friend, was willing to uncover and confront the memories that plagued his nightmares. A man that Tony, contrary to popular belief, would die for. _Let__'__s __do __this. __Spoken __like __a __true __man __of __courage._

The jeep crept forward. They were within a few hundred yards of Saleem's compound. They wound their way through bombed out huts, and what looked like bunkers, riddled with bullet holes. Pieces of concrete structures were missing, like some unnamable giant had ripped chunks from it in some frenzy. Tony thought of every war movie he'd seen, realizing that their current environment, was everything and nothing like the hollywood depictions. Film couldn't portray the loneliness, the solitude, the evil presence of grim violence that had ravaged the area.

The three agents scanned vigilantly the vacant structures, assuring themselves that they were in fact unoccupied. Aside from various wild dogs that dug through rubble, the surroundings of Saleem's compound seemed uninhabited. Then, they saw the compound.

It was dark and evil, like some abandoned castle, left hastily by some army, for fear the evils within it would escape. Tony turned the jeep around, aiming it in the direction from which they came, assuring convenience in the event of a hasty departure. Three car doors opened and closed, the sound echoing through the emptiness of the desert outpost. They agents checked their weapons, switched off the safeties, and gathered at the front of the jeep.

"I will take point. McGee, middle. Tony, rear." Ziva whispered.

"Copy."

"Got it, Z"

"Alright team, I'm on the hill. Got an unobstructed view of the compound from the South East. I don't have eyes on the North Western side of the compound. Stick where I can see you. There's no wind. Clear to advance." Gibbs spoke quietly.

"Whiskey 1-1, this is Hercules Seven-Four. I have no heat signatures of hostiles in the area. Looks like you're the only ones down there in the open. Can't see anything inside though. We'll keep eyes on and update you as necessary. For right now you're clear."

"Copy Gibbs, copy Hercules Seven-Four." Ziva began the lingo.

The team took a collective deep breath, raised their rifles to underneath their cheeks, and began their advance on the compound.

They wound along the edge of the grounds, keeping astride with the various bunkers and huts, each agent pointing the barrel of their rifle inside each building, scanning, then returning focus to the open spaces. McGee wondered how he was functioning. It felt like he'd been holding his breath for an hour.

"Whiskey 1-1, stop." Gibbs voice came loud and clear. The three agents, assumed a crouching position, sweeping their guns around warily.

"Go Gibbs."

"I got a visual on the West side. Didn't have a clear look, but saw someone peek around the corner of the compound. Proceed with caution."

The three stood, resuming their painfully slow walk to the compound.

"Boys, I'll cover the west side, Mcgee keep your attention on the compound as a whole, Tony cover the rear." Ziva barked her orders. Her pace picked up as they headed North, crossing the compound grounds towards a door. They stacked up, Ziva on the right side of the door, Tony and McGee on the left. Tony tried the rusty nob. Locked. Ziva nodded to him.

Tony stepped out in front of the door, braced himself, and kicked the door in. The old thing broke from it's hinges, thundering down to the floor, scattering dust of forgotten souls throughout the hall. Ziva, leading with her rifle, entered. With McGee tight on her six and Tony taking up the rear, the senior agent cast one last glance behind him, then stepped into the shadows of the compound.


	14. Chapter 14

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

**P.S. I DO NOT OWN NCIS, OR ITS CHARACTERS.**

**Warning: Contains Language and Violence.**

* * *

><p>"Clear. Gibbs, we're inside."<p>

"Copy Z. I'll keep overwatch from here. Stay safe."

"Copy."

The team entered Saleem's compound for the first time since their traumatic experience an eternity ago. Even though it had been quite some time, it all looked the same. A pale orange light filtered in through holes in the roof, as dust danced about lazily. Rubble covered the sandy floors, and the doors to the cells were ajar, as if beckoning entrance.

The team walked slowly forward, scanning, nudging the cell doors open to assure themselves of security. Door by door, down the long hall, they traversed. The only sound was the repetitive "clear", uttered by the agents. Within one room was a single chair at the center, facing away from the door. Two sets of rust spotted handcuffs hung from the arm rests. Coagulated dry blood lay spattered about on the concrete below it.

"Jesus." Tony whispered as he passed, a chill running up his spine. _Is __that __what __McGee __endured? __Is __that__the __secret __he__'__s __been __holding __all __this __time? __Dammit __DiNozzo, __show __that __you __care!_

__Tony reached forward, gibing McGee's shoulder a tight, brief squeeze. _I'm here for you brother._

McGee and Tony watched the sides and the rear, as Ziva, who was now trembling, faced forward. She reached a cell door, it's rusty hinges seemingly on the verge of disintegration, that welcomed her return. She pushed the door open, and gasped, her hand moving to cover her mouth as tears began to flow. Within the room, strewn recklessly about, were filthy and tattered bed sheets.

"I-I c-c-can't. Mc-McGee. Clear it." She trembled, passing the doorway. Leaning against the wall. While still keeping a watchful eye ahead of them, the ex-assassin couldn't deal with the past. Those bed sheets. Those memories. Those evil men. No, they were not men; the ones who did that to her. They were creatures. Evil things that, by the hand of the devil, somehow were allowed to roam the earth. Rapists. Demons in human clothing, garbage of the world.

McGee quickly cleared the room, his eyes understanding, in horror, at what its contents meant to their female counterpart. Hell, what it meant to the whole team. They were a family. McGee's blood began to boil. It was a feeling of helplessness, and hatred. Hatred for the man who had carved his back. Hatred for the man who caused this to resurface. From that moment, it wasn't about justice. It wasn't about apprehending a suspect. It wasn't even about making Sharif pay for the sins he'd committed against the soft spoken man. To McGee, it was about exacting revenge against the scum that had done that to Ziva. Tony looked into the room as Mcgee exited, his jaw clenching.

"The scum. The goddamn scum." he whispered. He gripped his rifle with an intensity that rivaled the choke hold he wanted to obtain on Sharif.

"Tony, keep a look out. Ziva? Ziva you with me?" McGee put his hand on Ziva's shoulder. When they're eyes met, he didn't see an ex-assassin on a mission. He didn't see a strong woman who been the best in Mossad. He saw a terrified and vulnerable best friend. McGee softly placed his forehead against hers.

"Ziva, focus. Let's take care of what we need, and get out of here. Sharif will pay."

"Damn straight he will." Tony hissed.

Then, like a spirit, a fourth voice penetrate the still air of the hallway.

"Katîb, I have been waiting."

* * *

><p>The three agents hefted the rifles simultaneously. Mujahid Sharif stood calmly in the center of the hallway, dressed in combat boots, fatigues, and a black and white checkered scarf. He nonchalantly tossed a cigarette onto the floor and placed his hand onto the butt of the large revolver he wore in a leather holster.<p>

"NCIS agents! You are under arrest for the murder of Staff Sergeant Clark Firestine! Toss the weapon you piece of shit!" Tony bellowed.

"Tony, cover rear!" Ziva ordered. Tony stood firm, walking grimly towards Sharif, his whole body shaking in hatred.

"DiNozzo! Stand down! Cover rear!" Gibbs voice pierced the intercom. Tony stopped just feet from Sharif, sneering.

"You're gonna die today, scumbag." Tony hissed through his teeth, before backing slowly till he was behind McGee and Ziva, then turned to cover the rear.

"Only after I watch you, bleed out." Sharif spoke calmly

McGee was frozen. The statuesque agent could only stare.

Xxx Flashback xxX

"You feel that Katîb? Eh? Speak, Katîb!" The red hot knife dug into McGee's back maliciously. "Eh Katîb? You are a strong one aren't you? Will you not *dragging blade* cry out?"

Xxx End Flashback xxX

"Well Katîb, if you will not speak, I will. But only to you, in this room." Sharif motioned to the cell to his right.

"He's not going anywhere!" Ziva yelled. "You animal!"

"Oh-ho, Katîb. You surround yourself with venomous snakes. I do remember this one. So pretty, she is, no? I assure you-"

"Say another word to her Sharif, and your life will end." McGee finally spoke, having been broken out of his trance by the threatening tone Sharif used towards Ziva.

"Finally. It always took you a while to make a noise. Tell me, have the scars healed?" Sharif's tongue licked dirty lips.

"I should say not. And, it is not a choice. I have many of my men surrounding this compound as we speak. You are surrounded. Katîb, if you want your friends to live, you will put your gun down, and come in this room with me. You remember this one, don't you?"

"*static* Whiskey 1-1, this is Hercules Seven-Four. We've got a large group of 7… no 8 vehicles heading to the compound on thermal imaging. E.T.A. 60 seconds. Get Sharif and get out of there!"

"I have visual, Hercules Seven-Four. Hurry up in there!" Gibbs was sweating with anxiety.

McGee unclipped his rifle from the sling, laid it on the ground, and began walking calmly towards Sharif, hands in the air. He remembered all of it. The scar. The mole. The eyes. The sneer. The pain. The torture. The hatred. _You __want __me __Sharif? __I__'__m __here. __I__'__m __ready._

"Ok, Sharif. Just you and me. In the room. Yeah, I remember it."

DiNozzo couldn't believe his ears. _How __is __McGee __so __calm __right __now! __I__'__m __about __to __shoot __Sharif __on __principle! __Probie, __we __need __to __get __out __of __here!_ Tony was looking around nervously, fidgeting as he reapplied his grip on his rifle.

Ziva watched, knowing something was going on. She had seen something like this. Something nagging in the back of her mind. This reminded her of something from her early training in Mossad. _Is __McGee __doing __what __I __think __he__'__s __doing?_

McGee was.

Once Tim reached Sharif, he stopped, smiling. "You know what they say about revenge, don't you Sharif? You gotta dig two graves. I've already dug one."

At that, he grabbed Sharif by the shoulders, and with all his strength, threw him through the open door into the cell that was his torture chamber.

* * *

><p><strong>Preview For Next Chapter:<strong>

"Dammit Ziva, Tony! There are 30 plus hostiles getting out of the vehicles, converging on the compound. I have clear shots. I can't take them all. Get out of there!" Gibbs yelled into his mic.


	15. Chapter 15

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**Please Review (not just fishing, want to know if i'm doing this right)  
><strong>

**I hope you enjoy!**

**I really want to thank camry72, Gottahavemyncis, and Precious Pup for continued encouragement, and sticking with me on this. Thanks!**

**Warning: Contains Language, Violence, Images of torture.**

* * *

><p>The cell door slammed shut behind McGee and Sharif. McGee had miscalculated his leverage, ending up beside Sharif instead of on top of him. Quickly, Sharif was on top of the agent, and his fists began to rain down upon McGee's face. All he could do was cover up his head and wait for a break, calculate a weakness, anticipate a gap in the pattern.<p>

"You grew up eh Katîb?"

***punch***

"Saleem should have ended you."

***punch***

"But now, I will end you. You were my first torture."

***punch***

"I."

***punch***

"Want."

***punch***

"Closure!"

* * *

><p>"Probie! No! God Dammit Probie!" Tony screamed, hurling himself against the cell door.<p>

"Tim! Tim! Open the door! Please Tim!" Ziva slammed the butt of her rifle against the steel frame.

"Dammit Ziva, Tony! There are 30 plus hostiles getting out of the vehicles, converging on the compound. I have clear shots. I can't take them all. Get out of there!" Gibbs yelled into his mic.

Ziva and Tony paused their assault on the door. A loud, but distant 'cracking' sound found it's ways from outside the compound to their ears.

* * *

><p>Outside, a militant fell, clutching his neck as blood poured from it. The other soldiers turned, looking in various directions, yelling in arabic, and pointing to the surrounding hills. From somewhere atop the hills, a quiet 'click-click' could be heard as Gibbs racked and reracked the bolt of the sniper rifle, the mechanism positioning the next bullet in place.<p>

***crack***

The large caliber sniper round left the barrel at about 2,550 feet per second.

***click-click***

Another fell, blood falling from a hole in his forehead.

***crack***

***click-click***

A soldier running for cover behind a brick wall gasped as a .308 sniper round pierced his chest.

***crack***

***click-click***

The soldier closest to the door that Whiskey 1-1 had entered fell, the deep crimson of his life cast upon the wall of the compound.

Gibbs fired several more shots, then reloaded.

_You will not take my children from me._

***crack***

***click-click***

_You will not harm my children._

**_*crack*_**

***click-click***

_You will no longer torment their dreams._

***crack***

***click-click***

_I will not let you have them._

***crack***

***click-click***

The bolt of the rifle slid flawlessly as Gibbs ejected each spent shell casing.

_Sharif, that is my boy. Tim is mine, not yours. You will not harm Tim._

***crack***

***click-click***

Many bodies scattered the courtyard. Some crawled in different directions. Some simply stared at their wounds, and others didn't move at all. A large group of them had made a dash for the open door, entering swiftly, while another began to spray automatic gunfire in the direction of Gibbs' vantage point.

* * *

><p>"Tony! They're coming in!" Ziva yelled as she pushed him into a cell, then ran across the hall into another. They could still hear pounding and groaning coming from McGee's cell.<p>

"Got it Z." Tony swung his rifle out of the cell, lining the sights of it up on the doorway of the compound. Ziva did the same. As soon as the first shadow appeared, surrounded by the brutal Somalian sun, Tony and Ziva opened fire.

Their bullets found their marks as Sharif's soldiers found themselves in an ambush, instead of the other way around.

"Reloading!" Tony called.

"Copy! Tony! How can you use so much ammo in a short amount of time!" Ziva yelled back.

"Oh, I don't know Zee-Vah! Maybe I want to make sure they're dead. I don't feel like dying today!"

The bolt slid home as Tony dropped the empty magazine, and began to fire again.

* * *

><p><em>There! A break in the pattern! A gap!<em>

McGee, who had been lying on his back as Sharif sat atop his belly, delivering punches to his head, seized the opportunity. With all his strength, he punched upwards between Sharif's fists, landing his knuckles in the man's throat. Sharif's hands instinctively grasped the area as he coughed, and McGee threw another, knocking the man off his belly.

In a flash, McGee was on top of him, snarling. _I __will __erase __you __from __time. __You __will __torment __me, __no __more, __Sharif._

McGee threw punch after punch into the man's face (realizing he must mix up his punching pattern, as to not allow Sharif anticipation for a counter). McGee hit his gut, his throat, his face. He ducked, weaved, elbowed, clawed.

The two grappled, rolling around in the dirt, growling like creatures. As they did, McGee caught glimpses of the cell they were in. Images of it from the past spilled into his mind unobstructed, like the two moments in time were colliding within him. As they fought, McGee thought he saw himself, shirtless and bleeding, handcuffed to the pipe in the corner. For a moment, he hesitated, a translucent image of himself crying in the corner, flitted across his vision. Sharif, though badly beaten, seized this opportunity.

Sharif pushed McGee off, creating distance between himself and the agent. His hand flew to the revolver in his holster, and with lightning speed, pulled it out, pulling the hammer back.

* * *

><p>"Probie! We can't hold them back much longer! Get the hell out of there!" Tony called.<p>

"We need to get in there Ziva!" She nodded, then yelled back.

"Cover me!"

Tony reloaded, and again began firing down the hall through the door.

Ziva ran to the cell door, placing the muzzle of her rifle firmly against the junction of the lock and the door frame. She pulled the trigger, sending splinters and steel shrapnel rocketing from the target.

Ziva kicked the door open, and Tony darted past her into the cell.

* * *

><p>"McGee! Son! You will not give up! You hear me? I will not lose you Tim!"<p>

McGee heard Gibbs yell through the intercom in his bloodied ear. At that moment he was overcome with a deafening bang, and light filled the room. Sharif's large caliber revolver, which was aimed at McGee's heart, swiveled to the doorway as it opened. Tim saw Sharif sneer.

Without thinking, Mcgee dove in front of the gun, reaching for it, as the hammer slammed into the firing pin, sending a large lead bullet through his chest. It traveled through his body, piercing the back of his bullet proof vest. As it traveled through Tim's body, it collided with tissue, organs and bones, all of which altered its trajectory. When it finally exited, it found itself hurtling in a tumbling motion directly into Tony's abdomen, just below his vest.

As McGee fell, hearing Tony cry out, he grabbed the revolver in midair. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Everything was silent. Everything was moving just way too slow. He watched from his falling position, as he gained control of the revolver. He heard Ziva scream, but it was drawn out. Before he even hit the ground, he pulled the revolver to himself, turning it in his bloody hands till his finger was on the trigger.

McGee hit the dirt floor with a thud, looked through the blood that clouded his eyes, and pulled the trigger. Sharif fell backwards, as the second bullet expelled from that revolver exited the top rear of his head.


	16. Chapter 16

**This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.**

**Please Review (not just fishing, want to know if i'm doing this right)**

**Warning: Contains Language and Violence.**

* * *

><p><em>It's over. Sharif is dead. I shot him. Why does my chest hurt? He must have really punched me hard.<em>

Tim coughed, cringing at the motion, then spat. He watched as a large amount of blood landed where he had spat. Then the pain set in. McGee clutched his chest, whimpering slightly as he saw blood forming around the hole in his bullet proof vest. Without thinking, he tried to gather the blood, trying to push it back in.

_No, blood, you're supposed to be inside me! Stop coming out! Oh god, please stop coming out!_

* * *

><p>"Oooh shit Probie." McGee turned his head, seeing Tony hunched over, holding his stomach, blood dripping from under his vest.<p>

"No! Tony! Oh God no Tony! Please Tony! You're ok, you're ok. Please tell me you're ok!" McGee frantically cried.

"Yeah McSecret-Service. I'm fine." Tony grinned at him, but Tim saw a rosy tinge covering Tony's teeth. He spat too, with the same result as his probie.

"Boys, we need to go! Now!" Ziva screamed. She turned, firing a few rounds down the hall, then pulled Tony to his feet.

"There's a back door at the opposite end of the hall. We going out there. Gibbs, you copy? Can you get to the jeep?"

"Already on my way. North side of the compound. 2 Minutes." In the earpieces the agents could hear Gibbs heavy breathing as hurried to the jeep, in a dead sprint. _You __will __not __take __my __children __from __me!_

"Tony, get McGee! I'll cover!" Ziva continued firing rounds down the hall, keeping their assailants at bay.

"Oooh Probie, even though you've lost weight, you're still heavy." Tony grunted as he tried to pull McGee into a fireman's carry. _Nope, __not __gonna __work._ The senior agent grasped McGee's collar, handed him his rifle, and began to drag him to the cell door.

"Probie, load you're weapon! You're gonna cover our six!"

* * *

><p>Tony drug McGee out of the cell and into the hall, turning the opposite direction at which they had entered. McGee pulled his rifle to his chest. <em>This <em>_is __my __family. __And __I __will __die __defending __them._

Mcgee's vision was blurry as he looked down along his body. He saw his bloodieid boots in front of him as he was pulled backwards through the hall, a steady trail of blood marking his trail. _If forgot to double-knot my left boot._

He steadied his rifle, firing at the shadows in the door as he was drug along. Ziva reached the end of the hall, and kicked the door open. The bright sun streamed in. McGee wasn't sure if his bullets were reaching their mark, but no matter. He released a relentless volley of lead towards the door as Tony pulled him along. _You __will __not __take __my __family __from __me! _Tears fell from his eyes, his left of which had swollen shut from Sharif's beating. _I __only __need __one __eye __to __shoot._

"Hold on Probie, we're getting out of here!" Tony labored to yell. "Gibbs is on his way!"

_Please, Boss, please please please be here! _And as if on cue, the three agents heard in their mics.

"You will not take my children from me!"

***BANG***

Just as they exited the rear of the building, they saw the body of a militant fly from around the corner of the compound, struck by the jeep, Gibbs at the helm.

"GET IN!" Gibbs yelled, "Ziva! Cover!"

With paternal strength, Gibbs lifted McGee, tossing him into the back seat of the jeep. Ziva and Tony fired, dropping militants who were rounding the corners of the compound. As soon as there was a moment of relief, Ziva dove into the back seat with McGee, Tony lept into the passenger seat, Gibbs took a step into the driver seat, firing one last round at a militant with his sniper rifle, then shut the door.

There was an explosion of dust as the tires leapt to life, hurtling the jeep through a group of soldiers.

"Heads Down!" Gibbs and Tony leaned their heads together over the center console and Ziva layed her entire body over McGee as bullets ripped through the windows.

* * *

><p>"Bullet proof windows my ass!" Tony screamed in frustration as the jeep left a large plume of dust and the militants behind.<p>

"They're using armor piercers." Gibbs spoke grimly. "How's McGee?"

"He's alive."

"Shit, I'm *cough* alive, Boss!" McGee's voice was marked with pain.

Gibbs breathed a sigh of relief. Until he looked in the rear view mirror.

"We got chasers. Ziva! Take care of it!"

Ziva reloaded hers and McGee's rifle, as she aimed down the sights behind them. McGee painfully propped his body up, also aiming behind them, and began shooting.

"Hercules Seven-Four en route to extraction, got multiple wounded. E.T.A. Landing Zone Charlie 5 minutes, hostiles in pursuit in multiple technicals, Copy?"

"Whiskey 1-1 read you loud and clear. En route, medics standing by, E.T.A. 7 minutes, how copy?"

"7 Minutes, Copy." Gibbs spoke. _What __the __hell __are __we __gonna __do __for __two __minutes?_

"Hold on!"

* * *

><p>The jeep roared through villages. Stray dogs dashed out of the way of the chase as bullets, from the hunters and the hunted, peppered the shanty huts.<p>

1 minute passed.

Bullets continued swarming angrily by the jeep, some embedding in the rear armor plating just behind Ziva and McGee.

2 minutes passed.

"Gibbs, McGee is passing out! Tim! Tim! Tim, no don't die, please don't die! I can't do this without you!" Ziva screamed.

3 minutes passed.

The corner of the jeep clipped a shanty home, ripping off the front left corner of the vehicle's armor plating, spilling the home onto the roadway. _That__'__ll __slow __them __down._

4 minutes passed.

"Probie! Probie! Don't you fucking die! Don't you fucking die! I need you Probie!" Tony had crawled into the backseat and was holding McGee's limp head in his lap as his eyes struggled to stay open.

5 minutes passed.

_Almost __there! __Almost __there! _Gibbs eyes were glued to the road, anticipating the clearing and the abandoned antenna tower any minute. When it finally appeared, he called out, "we're at the airfield, Im making a wide clockwise turn to the right. DiNozzo, fire out the right side!" Gibbs yelled.

Just as he finished that, an enormous dark shadow passed over them, and the deep droning of the engine, not 100 feet above the team, deafened them. Hercules Seven-Four's cargo gate was down with multiple marines strapped into the back. As soon as the militia vehicles were in sight, the marines opened fire with machine guns, covering the agents' jeep.

* * *

><p>As the bullets rained down from above, the militia, upon seeing the enormous plane, gave up pursuit, some simply stopping as the marines' or Ziva's marksmanship proved fatal.<p>

"Whiskey 1-1, clearing ramp for you. Keep a straight heading, bringing her down, over!" Dawkins yelled.

"Copy Dawkins."

The C-130, skillfully piloted, gently touched down, landing gear striking the sand as Gibbs downshifted, eliciting a lurch and acceleration from the jeep.

The dusty bleak landscape of Somalia streaked past, as the jeep inched closer and closer to the lowered ramp.

"Hustle Whiskey 1-1, we're losing runway. Have to abort in 30 seconds! Abort in 30 seconds!"

_No! We've come too far! _Gibbs knuckles gripped the steering wheel tighter, smoke pouring from the engine.

"Whiskey 1-1! We need you on board, NOW!" the pilot yelled.

The front wheels of the jeep touched the gate, gripping the steel, hurtling the jeep forwards and into the hold, as marines dove from the oncoming vehicle.

* * *

><p>"Tim! Tim! Stay awake Tim! Stay awake!" Ziva's voice echoed oddly. It was muffled and quiet. McGee opened his eyes. He was laying on the floor of the cargo hold, not remembering how he'd gotten out of the jeep. Ziva's face was blurry, the image of it smearing oddly as she moved. McGee looked to the side, seeing Tony fighting the medics who were trying to drag him to the infirmary. <em>Is <em>_Tony __crying? __Are __those __tears?_

"No! Dammit No! I need to be with him! Fuck off, I'm fine!" Finally, a marine grasped Tony's legs as the soldiers carried him off. McGee could taste blood and cordite. His teeth felt like they were in pieces, and his jaw felt like it was two inches to the left.

"Stay awake Tim!"

"Ma'am, you need to leave! We need room to work on him!" A medic yelled, pulling Ziva off Tim. He felt her hand pulled from his weak grip. _She __was __holding __my __hand? Ziva was holding my hand..._

McGee's vision clouded as he saw multiple medics swarm over him. Then everything went black.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm going to have to apologize if the chapters aren't as frequent as they used to be. I will still, at least get one chapter a day. But the time of two chapters/day may be over :( I'm up to appx chapter 20 in word, but just editing, so there's a good amount coming still. **

**Again, thank you all soooo much for reading, and thank you very much for the reviews. "aww shucks, you guys are sweet" *kicks the ground playfully***


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17...**

**Pre-Chapter Author's Note:**

**This chapter was particularly hard to write... I don't know, it was almost... painful. Just be aware, that it is intense at some points, but certain parts need to be addressed by me to provide explanation regarding McGee's past (far far past). **

**Warning: Tissues may be needed. (Well, I needed a tissue when I wrote it, but I'm Italian, and we cry at everything haha**

**Warning: Contains Language and inference of child abuse.**

* * *

><p>When McGee awoke, his surroundings were nothing like what he remembered. Last thing he could recall was being in the back seat of the jeep, staring at his blood covered hands wondering why they didn't have the strength to lift his rifle. Now, everything was different.<p>

He was laying amongst bulging black trash bags in an alley that resembled something like the bad parts of D.C. He stood slowly, expecting pain from the gunshot in his chest, but felt nothing. But that was just it. He felt absolutely nothing. No pain, no fatigue. He couldn't even feel the clothes on his back. He was still dressed in the fatigues he wore in Somalia. As he slowly began to walk out of the alley, he caught his reflection in a dirty window of a factory.

He had his combat boots, camouflage pants, a tight tan t-shirt, and a bandana on. _Wasn__'__t __Tony __wearing __the __bandana?_ He looked harder at his reflection, at his chest. He saw the hole from Sharif's pistol, but it wasn't red, it was black. He touched the hole in his chest, and as soon as he did, a large amount of ash fell from it, lingering down slowly. He quickly caught some of it before it hit the ground (or rather the grimy puddle he was standing in), pressing it between his fingers. _Yep, __ash. __That__'__s __weird._

He took another glance at his reflection, and his heart began to race when he focused on his eyes. All around his eye sockets, was completely black. It looked like ink, or maybe black make-up, and his face was a stark white. Not pale, 'haven't seen the sun in a while' white, but milk or new snow white. The black around his eyes were in perfect circles, contrast against his white skin, like a Dia De Los Muertos sugar skull. Quickly becoming unnerved by the sight, he trotted out from the alley, to see if he could find his team.

He came out onto an enormous street, four lanes on both sides. But there were no cars. In fact, there was no one. Despite seemingly being in a huge metropolis, the place was utterly silent. _Where __am __I? __What __is __this __place? _McGee figured he'd best keep walking. Maybe he could find somebody and get some medical attention and call his team. Call Ziva.

As he walked, something brushed against his face. It caused him to look up, wondering what it was. _Something __is __definitely __wrong._

Ash fell from the sky. No, that was an understatement; loads and loads of ash, as if millions of fires were burning newspapers on the rooftops of the skyscrapers. He had to strain his eyes to even see through the ash to the sky. After further examination, he realized ash wasn't the only thing above him.

Crisscrossing above, were millions and millions of pipes, about 6 inches in diameter. It looked like someone had taken a pen and drawn countless lines across a page. Then he heard it.

A quiet metallic clanging, like a windchime, began softly, but gradually increased in volume. He squinted at the pipes. _Handcuffs. __Sharif__'__s __handcuffs. __What __he had __secured __me __to __the __pipe __with __in __Somalia! _Hundreds and hundreds of exact replicas of Sharif's handcuffs clung haphazardly to the pipes, varying in size from standard issue, to enormous; large enough to cuff a man's torso. They jingled into each other from some wind that McGee couldn't feel. Then he focused on the buildings. All of them looked like factories, or warehouses of some sort. All had the same dirty, grimy windows, many of which were broken, or cracked. Dead vines wound their way up the bases of the buildings, all reaching their zenith about ten feet high. But they weren't green, but a dry gray and brown. _My god, it looks like the world has ended here. It's like some post-apocalyptic city. Did the C-130 crash while I was unconscious?_

Just as the realization dawned on him, a little boy, about the age of nine ran past him, splashing through dirty puddles.

"Hey! Hey!" McGee called. The little boy looked back at him, but continued running. McGee, wanting; no needing an answer to where he was and why he was there, gave chase. The child wound his way down dirty alleys with overturned dumpsters, ruined cars, rubble, and dumpsters. _This __can__'__t __be __D.C. __But, __it __looks __just __like __it._

Upon reaching the end of an alley, the boy clambered up a rusty fire escape ladder, looking down, terrified at the man following him. McGee jumped to the ladder and began to climb.

He expected it to lead to the second or third floor of the warehouse, but after four or five floors, he realized this wasn't a normal fire escape ladder, the grime on the rungs smearing off onto his palms. It felt like the rungs themselves were melting under his touch, bending slightly under his weight. He kept climbing after the child, knowing that he was possibly his only answer to this all.

McGee looked down and gulped. He was at least 100 feet above the handcuff pipes, if not 150. Even though he was at such a great altitude, the buildings on either side never gave way to a view, but rose along with the fire escape. As he climbed higher, the ash got more dense in the air, large patches of the stuff clinging together like clouds; some of which McGee had to push through as he proceeded up the rungs. Finally, he saw the boy push a dirty window open from the ladder, and climb in. Once McGee reached the same window, he clambered in.

When he set his boots on the steel mesh floor, he saw that he was in an enormous room. Some factory floor, made of steel weaving. He could see feet and feet below him. Between him and the ground floor almost 200 feet below, were innumerable pieces of machinery, each one more sinister than the next. Hooks and chains and spikes and conveyor belts stuck out from all directions. And then he heard the little boy sniffle.

McGee followed the noise, clambering up a set of steel stairs and running across a catwalk, having to stoop around and push aside rusty chains and large leather straps. _Why __would __someone __hang __chains __right __in __the __way __of __a __catwalk?_

The the metal walkway led into the wall, where a concrete hall continued. Instead of it looking like a factory, it resembled very low-income government housing apartments. The projects. But there were no doors, just explicit words spray painted on the gray walls as it wound along in right angles. McGee kept hurrying, hearing the sniffle again, just a little bit closer. He increased his pace, turning and looking down a long hallway. It had to be at least 50 yards. As he continued, trash, blood, syringes, spent bullet casings, and leather belts littered his path. _Leather __belts? __Why __is __a __child __living __in __conditions __like __this? __Where __is __his __father? __Where __is __his __mother?_

Finally, at the end of the hall he reached the only door. It was splintered, cracked, tagged, and there was a notice of eviction, as well as a 'condemned' posting on it. _This __is __absolutely __no __place __to __raise __a __child._

He turned the knob slowly, opening the door, and revealing a single room.

It was identical in every way to the cell he had been tortured in in Somalia.

He let out a gasp, but he found the child.

* * *

><p>The little boy sat on a little blue blanket on the floor, a candle in front of him as he clutched a little stuffed bear. The little boy was shaking as McGee closed the door behind him.<p>

"Hi there, I'm-"

"I know who you are!" The little boy yelled, accusingly. "Why were you never there? Where did you go? I was all alone!" He screamed.

McGee froze in shock. _What?_ The little boy's face was cast beneath shadows of the candle, but McGee noticed something peculiar (even more peculiar than the whole situation he was now in). Around the little boy's emerald green eyes, was the same pitch black circles; his face just as white as Tim's. McGee didn't dare move closer, for fear of spooking the boy.

"What's your name, little boy?" McGee asked, in his best 'comforting a child' voice.

"You know my name."

"I do?"

"Yes." The little boy pulled the teddy bear into a tight hug, tears falling from his green eyes.

"Well, maybe I forgot. Can you help me remember?"

"You need to know that. On your own."

"Well maybe I need some help, little boy."

"I'm not little."

"No you're not. I'm sorry." McGee stuttered. Feeling that the child would not flee, McGee took a seat opposite the candle on the floor. They were a few feet from each other, when the child abruptly tossed the teddy bear to McGee. The agent immediately caught it, turning it over slowly in his hands. Oh my god... _I __recognize __this._

"Where did you get this?" McGee demanded. The little boy shrugged.

"Why, this is Benny!" McGee exclaimed. The little boy nodded.

McGee began to caress the little stuffed bear, remembering the day his mother had given it to him. It had been his ninth birthday. His father, of course, was drunk. McGee remembered running to his room crying, Sarah in tow, as his father cursed him.

**Xxx Flashback xxX**

"No, fffuckin son of mine needs a teddy bear. What are you a baby? Oh yeah, go on, cry now for me baby. Get the hell out of here, before I get my leather belt. Yeah, that's right, go to your room. Where babies live. You'll amount to nothing, you hear me Tim! You little runt. God damn runt."

**Xxx End Flashback xxX**

McGee's eyes welled up, and he clutched the bear to him as the memory caused tears to flow. As they began to fall, McGee scooted himself into the corner of the room, whispering softly, "Oh Benny."

The little boy's face changed slightly, noticing the man beginning to cry. With unspoken courage, the little boy stood, walked timidly over to McGee, and sat down next to McGee, leaning against him. Mcgee instinctively put his strong arm around the child, feeling the boy's own tears on his arm. Then the boy spoke softly. As soon as he began, McGee knew what he was saying.

It was the first poem McGee had ever written. It was when he discovered his talent for writing. He wrote it as his mother and father fought viciously on the eve of his ninth birthday.

* * *

><p>"I Am The Forgotten Runt<p>

Pushed aside by the others

For mother's milk

Forsaken and betrayed by my brothers

Even father won't take me in

Rain upon the hay

Why won't he look upon me

For you are the one who made me this way

It wasn't my doing, to be crippled of sorts

Looking with sagging eyes

And stunted feet

No desire but love are my cries

Wrinkled skin to never grow

Lungs that tear upon first inspire

Father, please

Where is that love they say will never tire?

Such a fate is that of the weakest

To be the one that is chosen last

If chosen at all

A future as bleak as the past

As the brothers are taken by warm hands

I have my corner of the cage

Nose in the wire

Who will write my page?

For no one writes of the weakest of the litter

No one tells stories of the fallen child

No songs are made of he who cannot stand

No prayers ever made for the mild

But I am The Forgotten Runt

It takes all to stand

And all to walk

Was this planned?

Please Father, why have you forgotten me?

I am as much a part of you as them

Please Father."

* * *

><p>As soon as the boy finished, he and McGee wrapped their arms around each other, Benny in the middle, and cried.<p>

Then, as if some powerful hurricane began blowing, the room shook. The candle fell, extinguished in its own wax, and the room went dark. McGee remembered his ninth birthday like it was yesterday. The most difficult time in his life. Even more painful than being tortured by Sharif. Knowing that his father never cared. _I __am __the __runt. _His heart was swimming in sorrow and fear.

A blinding light pierced through the room suddenly. McGee and the green eyed boy shielded their wet eyes, squinting. A voice that penetrated the darkness of their solemn tears echoed through the little concrete room. It was a strong and familiar voice, but McGee couldn't place it. It spoke many words, causing McGee to frown, because the voice didn't sound like those of someone who spoke much or often. It was stoic, but unusually soft, and McGee could hear it waver from sadness. Whoever the voice belonged to, was crying as well.

"McGee, I know we've never really seen eye to eye. I know I give you a harder time than the others. But you've shown strength that- even I can't say I have. You're something else Tim. And, whether you'll believe it or not you give me strength. You show me that in a world of evil, there is good. We're immersed in evil people and evil deeds, but you always remind me that there is good left in the world. I- I know you're father was a bad man. I don't know how you've carried the burdens of your secrets and not let them turn you into a bitter cynical man. Like I used to be. You know, I've had things taken from me. And- I'll be damned if I won't try to live like you. To be a good man in the face of evil. To be someone who's kind, caring, yet strong and resilient. I- You are my son McGee. I know it's not blood, but god dammit you are my son, and I love you. I love you my boy. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to show it, but I'm not perfect. You are a good man, and- I hope you feel the same about me."

* * *

><p>The room around McGee exploded, pain surging into his chest and his eyes snapped open. He was sweating profusely in the hospital bed. Just as he focused, he saw the door close, and Gibbs walk past the window to his hospital room, wiping his cheek with his sleeve.<p>

A moment later, the machines around him began beeping wildly, and men and women in white coats rushed into the room. They began quickly busying themselves around McGee, but his eyes weren't focused on them. His eyes were focused on the window to the hallway through which he saw Gibbs.

"Alright Mr. McGee, you're doing fine. We're going to put you under, but you've made the best step towards recovery. You woke up." The doctor with an Israeli accent spoke to him. McGee looked at the doctor, who turned to the window, giving a thumbs up to Gibbs and Ziva, who stood watching him anxiously.

* * *

><p><strong>I don't mean to fish for reviews, but if you'd like, please tell me what you think of this chapter. I know it's a bit abstract, but let me know what you think is going on. So i can know I'm doing my job telling the story :-)<strong>


	18. Chapter 18

**So... we now know a little about McGee's childhood. Painful stuff, but he's got his NCIS family! **

**BTW, the poem is actually a section of a poem that I wrote, just for fun.  
><strong>

**And I am currently sick (nasty flu thing) so i may get alot of writing (As i'm not going to work) or very little writing, because i'm passing out on nyquil. Hope it's the former!**

**Warning: contains language.**

* * *

><p>"Excuse me, nurse? Can I have some sheets of paper?" Tony flashed his famous grin, and the Israeli nurse smiled.<p>

"But Mr. DiNozzo, I already brought you some paper, no? And you convinced us to move your bed in with Mr. Mcgee." Tony shrugged, flashing his whites again.

"You know, it's just a little paper. You'll be my favorite nurse." Tony batted his eyelashes playfully.

The nurse sighed, shaking her head and smiling at the handsome American. She left, and soon returned, giving him a large pad of paper and a pen. Tony tossed the pen onto the counter beside his hospital bed, and began to tear sheets out of the notebook.

* * *

><p>He crumpled them up into balls, and began tossing them into the trash can in the corner of the room. After five or six sheets, he turned, tossing the seventh to his left. It bounced lightly across McGee's lap.<p>

_Dammit McGee, wake up._

Tony tossed another, bouncing the ball of paper off McGee's foot.

_Seriously, I dragged you're ass, and you at least won't talk to me?_

Another paper ball soared, resting flush against Mcgee's crotch.

_Booyah! I'm a sniper!_

Tony outstretched his right arm to the right, taking a hook shot that went nowhere near McGee.

_Seriously Probalicious, McLock-Myself-In-A-Torture-Chamber-Get-The-Shit-Kicked-Out-Of-Me-By-a-Terrorist-Secret-Service-Diving-In-Front-_

***toss***

_-Of-Bullets-Of-An-Unreasonably-Large-Handgun-Wielded-By-A-Maniac-Going-Through-The-Window-After-Gibbs-Rolls-The-Jeep-Inside-The-Goddamn-C-130!_

Tony flung the wad of paper hard. It ricocheted of Mcgee's forehead, landing in the trashcan. Tony pumped his arms in the air repeatedly, his hands in fists.

"Probie, you see that? Damn, shoulda seen that!"

"I felt it, DiNozzo." McGee mumbled.

* * *

><p>"PROBIE!"<p>

Tony leapt from his hosptiral bed, then stumbled at the pain that radiated through his stomach, his I.V. stand toppling over. He looked up from the floor, seeing McGee's outstretched arm. Tony grabbed it, as McGee tried to help him up. As soon as the senior agent was up, he flung his arms around McGee, the tubes connected to Tony pulling taught across the room.

"Oh Jesus Probie, I thought you'd never wake up! Thank god. How you feeling? How you doing? You wanna go for a walk? There's some nurses we can flirt with! Wanna watch a movie?" The older agent prattled out words like bullets.

McGee had no idea what was going on. _Is-__Is__ Tony__… __hugging __me?__ What __the __hell __happened __while __I __was __asleep?_

"Or, maybe we can just rest, McGee."

"Yeah, I'd like that." The young man's voice was quiet, emanating the fatigue and pain his body was in.

"Where are we Tony? What happened?"

Tony released from the hug, standing (or more stooping because of the pain), and immediately tangled himself up in the tubes he was attached to. As he stepped over them, turning his body about to untangle himself, Tony spoke quickly.

"Well, my little Probie, what do you remember last?"

"I remember… ummmm, driving. I'm guessing we reached the airfield."

Tony, finally untying the knot of tubes around him, sat on his own hospital bed.

"We made it to the airfield, yeah. Then like, Voom! The C-130 flew over us, marines shooting down from the cargo gate at the militia." Tony spoke with his hands, waving them about. _Italians __have __their __own __form __of __sign __language, _McGee thought to himself, chuckling.

"So the militia turned, and I was in the backseat with you, and we were just bouncing around and bloody. The jeep was smoking, smelled terrible. The C-130 landed right in front of us, and Gibbs willed the jeep to go faster. We had 30 seconds. 30 seconds McGee! And the C-130 was gonna abort. But Gibbs made it. But because we were going so fast, when we got on the gate, the tired burned out, sending us into the hold faster than the plane was flying. We hit a cargo box, flipping. You went out the window, limp as a rag doll. Then the medics came, did a bang-up job, and now we're here!" Tony inhaled.

"Where's here?"

"Israel, McOblivious. We're in Israel. Closest friendly trauma hospital. Well, that was any good. Seriously, this place is like a David family reunion every minute! They all have that death stare, like Ziva. I bet Israel's chief import is paper clips. I bet it's their currency!"

"Tony, slow down, where's Ziva? Where's Gibbs?"

"They should be on their way. They just ran to get some food. Gibbs broke his arm. Again. The man does not have good luck with shenanigans that involve you and vehicles."

Then Tony paused, looking into his lap. McGee turned a little more to the right, so he could see his superior a little better, his chest hurting.

"Look Tim, I… uuuuhhh, I, ummm, thought that I, umm…" Tony scratched the back of his head, resisting the urge to crack a joke. He heard Dr. Brandt's voice as Mcgee looked at him quizzically.

'_The only obstructions from those close to you, are the ones you place yourself. Timothy, from what I can gather, may be the closest person to you in your life. The one that cares the most about you. But he can't, if you don't let him. Let him in, Anthony.'_

"I thought I lost you, Tim. I thought you were dead. You were limp in my arms. McGee… I couldn't… ummm, ehh, uh, I, umm couldn't stop crying."

McGee sat up (as far as his aching chest would allow), a look of surprise on his face.

"I couldn't stop crying because if I- If I lost you- I don't know what I'd do. You're my best friend McGee. You're my best friend. You're my…"

Tony sniffled, wiping fresh tears from his face with a blanket. Even though he was crying, he didn't turn away; he wasn't ashamed to let McGee see him cry.

"You're my brother, Tim. I love you like a brother. My life wouldn't be the same without you. Hell, there'd be no Probie to torment!" _Dammit__ DiNozzo! __Oh __well, __baby__ steps __I __guess._

McGee smiled at the older agents as tears fell from his eyes. _So__ maybe __I __wasn__'__t __foolish__ for __seeing __him __like __that. __Like __a __brother. __And__ what __we __are, __is __what __makes __us __as __such.__Him__ '__tormenting__' __me. __It__'__s __how __we __are.__ Brothers __fight, __or __so __I__'__ve __heard. __We__'__re __brothers__…_

"You know, I was really scared back there, and when you talked to Sharif, all calm and collected, then threw him into the cell. Man, you have some balls. Didn't know you had it in you." Tony paused, rethinking what he just said. "No, I knew you had it in you, I guess I'd just never seen that kind of… courage from you."

McGee slowly and painfully folded his hands behind his head.

"But hey! We're Eskimo buddies Probie!"

"Tony, isn't that when you sleep with the same woman?"

"Yeah, but I guess, well, I mean instead of woman, bullet. And by sleep, I mean 'get shot by'. Hmmm didn't really think that out, but you know what I mean."

McGee laughed quietly, wincing at the pain.

"That hurt? You want some of my morphine? You should really try some. I don't need all of it. Can I fluff your pillow?"

"Tony."

"Yeah McGee?"

"I forgive you."

Tony looked into his lap, staring at his fingers as he spoke.

"That obvious huh?"

"Yeah."

"I just… can't stand you being mad at me. And I know, I know, if I can't stand you being mad at me I should think before I speak. And push buttons in planes. But thank you. For forgiving me. Really didn't think you'd say that."

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Bud?"

"Right before I woke up, you know, for the first time, who was in the room?"

"Gibbs was. Why?"

"Just wondering." McGee whispered, a tear sliding down his cheek as he smiled to himself. "Just wondering."

* * *

><p><strong>Woo Tony and Tim finally talked it out! still more resolutions to come, and don't worry, i haven't forgotten the little deal Kort and Tony made... muahaha<strong>


	19. Chapter 19

**Hello All!**

**I have to apologize that I haven't been uploading as regularly, but I have a nasty flu (fever, headache, couching, the works, etc.) So unfortunately, it has been kinda hard focusing on the story, but I'm almost done with it! Hope you've all been enjoying it!**

**WARNING: Contains Launguage**

* * *

><p>"Timothy No-Middle Name McGee! Why did you not tell me where you were going and that you were all fucked up from the past and that you went to Somalia and that it was really really really dangerous and that you were going to go kill someone and that you got shot and that Tony got shot too and… wait, didn't you two get shot by the same bullet?"<p>

"Yes Abbs."

"So like, you shared a bullet."

"Yes Abbs, Tony and I shared a bullet."

"That's kind of-"

"Hinky?"

"I was actually going to say kinky. And romantic, in a bromance sort of way. What did you name it?"

"Name what?"

"The bullet McGee!"

"Name? Like, a name. For the bullet? Abby, I'm not following."

"McGee! We're naming our bullet Mortimer!" Tony yelled. Apparently he had been eavesdropping. Though, it could hardly be called that when he was in the hospital bed a few feet away. The goth forensic scientist had been running McGee through the ringer ever since she found out… well found out pretty much everything.

"You know, _Arsenic __And __Old __Lace,_ 1944, Frank Capra. Cary Grant plays Mortimer Brewster who…"

McGee tuned Tony out as he spoke further with Abby.

"Look, Abby we'll talk when I get home. Yes, I'll be safe, and tell Gibbs and Ziva you say hi."

"Hi Abbs!" Tony yelled, waving.

"Tony is waving. He's on pain killers. Alright, bye Abbs."

McGee closed the phone, sighing. He had alot of explaining to do. To Abby, Ducky. Hell, even Palmer. McGee noticed the door open as Tony was wrapping one of the sheets around his head.

"Hey Ziva."

"Tim."

She was trying to hide an enormous smile, but was doing a terrible job of it. Her hands rest on the handles of a wheelchair.

"Care to go for a walk with me?" McGee's smile matched hers.

"I'd love to."

"Hey, what about me? Fine fine, I see how it is. Just when you come back bring another wheelchair so Probie and I can race!"

McGee was helped into the wheelchair by a nurse that had followed Ziva into the room. Once he was set, Ziva wheeled him out.

* * *

><p>"Ziva, are you ok? Your forehead!"<p>

Ziva tenderly touched the large gauze dressing on her forehead as she walked.

"Yes, Tim, I'm fine. Just got cut by glass when Gibbs rolled the jeep.

"Yeah, I don't remember that... My god, Ziva, Israel is beautiful!"

Ziva shone with pride. This was her home, despite the painful familial ties. It was just close to dusk, and the sun sunk into a reddish orange basin on the horizon. A warm wind blew as Mcgee looked around the hospital garden. He spied a bench beneath a cluster of Date Palm trees on a little hill in the center of the garden. Ziva was thinking the same thing as she pushed him beside it, then took a seat on the bench next to him. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, just relishing the reality of being alive after what they had just been through. As they sat, over the gates of the garden, through native foliage, they saw the twinkling lights of the Tel Aviv skyline. The warm winded tousled McGee's hair. They turned to each other, their eyes meeting, their hearts understanding.

While the memories would never go away, they will fade. The pain of what happened to Tim and Ziva in Somalia would dissipate as the years went on, and both knew that they would be there for each other throughout those years to comfort. Sharif: an evil man, was dead. While McGee had never been one to sway towards violence, he felt satisfied with what he had done. He felt closure. But he did not feel closure, for the purpose of self-comfort, but he felt closure for Ziva. And that, was all Tim needed to be happy.

Without speaking, Tim's hand moved slowly, cautiously, timorously, towards the armrest of the bench. He watched his hand move, visually examining it, as if to make sure this gesture was in fact his own. His fingertips lightly brushed the back of Ziva's hand. She turned it over, their fingers interlocking. _Good __thing __I__'__m __in __a __wheelchair. __If __I __pass __out, __I __won__'__t __fall __anywhere..._

They studied each other, occasionally glancing at their hands, as if it were some involuntary reaction that they had no control of. McGee, holding Ziva's hand. While their minds tried to convince them that it looked wrong, being coworkers and friends, their hearts knew otherwise.

"Look, Ziva. I just, want to say thank you. For what you told me in the plane, right before I passed out. And for looking after me in Somalia. I couldn't have done it without you."

She smiled, nodding, as if encouraging him to continue.

"It's just that, I…" McGee took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "It's just that I've… had feelings for you for some time. So, I'm sorry if anything I said in the plane seemed… presumptuous and cold. I know you don't just see me as the tech guy. And even if it was to just help take care of Tony, I'm glad I went out with you guys Saturday night. I just, I guess let my mind jump to conclusions. Then when I kinda figured it was just to take care of Tony, I felt… heartbroken in a way. Not in a huge way, just a little. I just… When I finally remembered… uh, ummm, sleeping with you. I just felt… so happy. And not in the 'yeah, I just got some' way, but comfort, peace, and happiness. You know, there's a difference between being content and being happy, and when I realized we had slept together, shared something intimate; well, it was the first time I've been truly happy in a while. And I'm truly happy right now. With you. Holding your hand."

While Ziva had expected a rant, she was touched. Happiness. _I __bring __him __happiness? __I__'__ve __never __brought __someone __true __happiness. __Or, __at __least __since __I __was __a __girl, __but __that __was __family. __I __bring __him __happiness?_

She looked at him questioningly. She recalled her life in Mossad, realizing how she'd, even up until this moment, all but forgotten what it felt like, to truly make a human being that you cared about, happy. She squeezed the hand of the gentle, but strong and courageous man beside her as she leaned towards him. McGee met her halfway, their lips meeting tenderly (although his heart was pounding furiously). Ziva wrapped her free hand up and around McGee's neck, as if afraid he would disappear.

Ziva and Tim kissed beneath the Date Palm trees, bathed in the lingering light from the sun as it bid pleasant dreams to Israel.

Gibbs leaned his forearm against an open window that overlooked the garden, watching as his two agents tenderly, and even sweetly kissed. He smiled, noting the similarities between this kiss, and his and Shannon's first. The image many years ago came to Gibbs' memory, recalling how he and Shannon had kissed, just as tenderly, as if asking permission. It's not that the kiss lacked passion, but it was simply appropriately paired with the moment; one of new love and discovery. Gibbs readjusted the sling that held his right arm, and walked to back to his boys' hospital room.

* * *

><p><em>One Week Later<em>

"Yes Duck. Yes Duck. No Duck. No Ducky. No. Yes. Yes. Yes Ducky. No. No Ducky. I won't. Of course not. I wouldn't dare. No Duck. No Duck. Yes D…"

Tony pressed a pillow over his head and groaned as McGee respectfully listened to Ducky's words of advice on healing. DiNozzo had just heard the same list of do's and don't's from the medical examiner. He thought he couldn't take it anymore. Then, he had to listen to McGee endure the same conversation. When he finally hung up, Tony tossed the pillow over to McGee.

"You know Probie, this recovery bullshit is taking too long. I mean, where's modern medicine when you need it? Not this 'sticks and stones' garbage. I swear I saw them bleeding someone with leeches in the other room."

McGee laughed. "Well, the doc said we're both recovering pretty well. I still can't believe the bullet missed my spine. Just a few broken ribs and tissue damage. And you?"

"Yeah, you're 'hand-me-down' bullet decided to take a road trip through my gut, taking a nap in my liver. Thank god it will still function. Don't know what I'd do without a good brew. That reminds me, I owe you a beer."

McGee looked at him quizically. "Why?"

"Ummm, maybe because you saved my life? Jumping in front of a crazy guy who overcompensates with an enormous revolver, that's why. Man, he must have been way insecure about himself, carting that goddamn cannon around on his hip. I think I'm going to get a tiny gun, see if that reverse psychology business works."

"That sounds… like a very professional purpose of a firearm."

"I laugh to live, McCynic."

"I can learn something from that."

"You mean that Probie?" Tony asked with incredible seriousness.

"Oh yeah."

"Aww well shucks Wally. McGee, when we get back stateside, I say we go out for drinks. And not just once. Let's actually hang, you know? I hate… I hated realizing I didn't really know much about you. Much less than I thought."

"I, uh, I am good at keeping secrets, apparently." McGee shrugged. "But I accept. Just not-"

"THE TIPSY CROW!"

"No Tony."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

Just then, the two agents' doctor stepped into the room, knocking softly as he entered. "Excuse, me? I don't mean to interrupt this… philosophical debate, but I have come to announce that you will be released tomorrow, into care of the U.S. Navy. Mr. DiNozzo and Mr. McGee, it has been a pleasure." The doctor (who both McGee and DiNozzo terribly mispronounced his name, settling with 'Bob'), smiled at them, and stepped out.

"Bye Bob!" Both agents replied in unison, waving.

"You hear that? We're going home Probie! We're going home!"


	20. Chapter 20

_****_**Thank you all for bearing with me! I've been pretty sick with a nasty flu (103 fever and such). Definitely not fun. But thank you for the reviews! they were lovely to read. **

**A/N: There is a dance scene in this chapter, and I recommend listening to "16 Dollars" by Volbeat on youtube or something. I know, not really a dancy type of song, but i listened to it while i wrote. Made me happy :)**

**WARNING: Contains Language**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Six Months Later<strong>_

The young man stared at the page that sat comfortably in the typewriter. Full. Snow lingered playfully past the window. He looked up at the clock on the wall, then turned to his phone, having long forgotten how to read analog. His phone read 7:41 pm, Saturday night. He sighed softly to himself, feeling a newfound feeling of happiness spread quickly through his chest.

_Now THIS, is Deja Vu._

McGee chuckled to himself, pushing himself up from his desk, and the newest adventures of LJ Tibbs and Co. McGee decided that his fictional characters' fates lay in the shifting sands of Africa, where McGregor and Lisa would confront past demons. _Ok, __fine. __So __I __do __base __my __characters __off __the __team. __They __should __be flattered __that __my __books __have __been __selling __like __crazy. __Apparently __we__'__re __all __quite __interesting._

McGee walked into the bathroom slowly, pulling off his shirt. Just like he had, many months ago, he stared at himself. He ran two fingers over the divot in his chest. The bullet hole. Another scar from Somalia.

"Things have really changed Jethro. I mean, It's just that… You know when you think you got everything figured out? You think you know how it's all gonna happen, then certain things occur, and life just completely changes. 180 degrees. It's weird Jethro, just how the only consistent part of life, is its inconsistency. We just need to let go. Stop trying to control it. Just let go, and smile." Jethro, who had followed him into the bathroom, stood looking at him questioningly.

An electronic ring pierced his gaze. Without replacing his shirt, he picked up his phone, turning down his record player."

"McGee."

"Tim, you almost ready? Abbs and I are almost at your place."

"Yeah Tony, just gotta throw a shirt on."

"Mmm you should keep it off Probie… Ow! Abbs, you're making me swerve!"

"Careful Tony. See you when you get here. We'll be ready."

McGee hung up and walked into his room, frowning slightly as he began to fold some of the clothes that were at the foot of his bed. The shower squeaked as it was shut off.

"Tim?"

"Yeah Z?

"Was that Tony?"

Ziva called from McGee's shower. Tim smiled as he buttoned on a nice collared shirt. After smoothing out the creases, he took a seat on the bed, breathing in deep the luscious smells of Ziva's shampoo.

"Yeah it was, they're on their way."

The bathroom door opened, revealing the beautiful woman, clad only in a towel. Tim stood, then, as his male urges took over upon seeing the half-naked Israeli, sat down again.

"I'll be ready in a minute."

She made her way over to him seductively and wrapped her arms around his head, pulling him into a deep kiss. Deja Vu never tasted so good. McGee gave into her kiss, their tongues dancing slowly together. McGee reached around her waist and pulled her closer, eliciting a small moan from the woman. She pulled away and softly slapped his cheek.

"Tim! We'll be late! They're almost here."

"I like to finish what I start!" McGee smiled cheesily.

She shook her head at him and headed back into the bathroom to finish. McGee laid back on the bed, sighing as he looked at the ceiling, remembering their first date once they got back from Somalia.

**Xxx Flashback xxX**

McGee felt like he had been waiting in the italian restaurant for an eternity. Clenched in a sweaty palmed death grip was a single rose (that by this time, was a miracle hadn't died from the pressure). He paced. He checked his hair in the mirror (for the thousandth time). He checked his watch.

_Oh god, what if she doesn't show! Did she mean all those things? Maybe she is just being nice. But she seemed like she wanted to try this. No Tim, shut up. Mind, shut up! Heart, continue doing whatever it was that you were doing. I'm a mess. No, no I look good. Sarah even said so when I sent her the picture of what I was wearing. I hope Ziva thinks so. No, Tim, you're gonna nail this. This is Ziva. So what if she's amazingly beautiful, exotic, deadly, skilled, charming, perf-._

McGee's jaw dropped. Ziva strode into the restaurant with a look of confidence. She was beaming. She was beautiful. And she was his for the night.

Hugging her stunning features was a deep crimson cocktail dress with matching heels and clutch. Her smile radiated from her like sunlight. McGee reached for the nearest wall to stabilize himself.

Upon reaching his borderline incapacitated body, she place a kiss on his cheek, leaving the smallest amount of lip gloss for him to stupidly wipe off.

"Shall we?"

"Uh, umm, of course. Yes. We shall. This way. Yes please. I mean yes."

Ziva chuckled as she took his arm as he attempted to lead her to the table. _Oh __McGee, __you__'__re __so __cute __when __you__'__re __flustered._

* * *

><p>They ate lavishly. The beginning of the meal was, naturally, a bit awkward. Both parties involved understood this was a new thing; a potentially dangerous thing. While a mutual decision, they knew it would take some time in truly acting as their hearts felt, not just imagining. After some time of McGee stuttering and wiping invisible food remnants from his mouth, and Ziva repeatedly clearing her throat, it happened. They weren't sure exactly when the unease fell away, but it did.<p>

Oddly enough, they talked nothing of work, or their recent time in Somalia. They spoke primarily about hobbies, travel, places they wanted to visit before they died, things they wanted to do, Tim's books, his poetry, Ziva's childhood in Israel, her intent to take him there (on fairer terms than the last).

Before they knew it, they had polished off a fine bottle of wine, and creme brulee.

Before they knew it, they were holding hands across the table, smiling.

"Tim."

"Yes Ziva?"

"I want to say, that, I have had a wonderful time tonight. This has been… one of the best dates I've ever been taken on."

"One of?" McGee joked, smiling. She lightly kicked him under the table.

"I… McGee, Tim. I want to try this. I want to… have this." She nodded at their hands, interlocked with each other on the table.

McGee's eyes leapt. "Really?"

"Yes, Tim. What you said in Tel Aviv. About me making you happy. Truly happy. That… that is how you make me feel, as well. You were the first to welcome me to the team when Kate died, and you were the first to be there for me after… Somalia. I came to you, Tim, for a reason. I came to you, I sought your comfort, because I trust you. Because, there is something I see in you that I want… in a partner. Your kindness, is something, in my life, that I need. I want this. If you do."

If McGee would have spoken, it would have appeared that he had some debilitating disease that impaired his mouth and tongue from working. Understanding this quality, and by assessing his dangerously high heartrate, he simply leaned forward. The new couple kissed in the ambiance of the restaurant, as waiters twirled about, and wine flowed.

Before they knew it, McGee was driving them to his apartment, holding hands as they drove.

Before they knew it, McGee was leading Ziva into his bedroom, their lips locked.

Before they knew it, they were undressing each other, no inhibitions, no guilt, no feelings of urgency.

Before they knew it, they were bare, passionately making love.

Before he knew it, under the morning sun, McGee lay, Ziva in his arms, as he smiled at the deep gouges in his wall from the impromptu knife throwing lesson a few weeks ago.

Before she knew it, Ziva was drawing circles on the chest of the man who showed her something she'd never truly felt before; safety, comfort, kindness, happiness and love.

**Xxx End Flashback xxX**

"You two ready yet? Taxi's here" Tony bounded into McGee's apartment, Abby in tow.

"Yep, all set Tony." McGee stuffed his wallet into his pants, locking the door behind him. The two men led the women to the waiting taxi, destination, the Tipsy Crow.

* * *

><p>"And so, we were all Navy Seal and shit, dropping militia like nobody's business…"<p>

Tony was deep into telling (or retelling) their tale to a captivated Abby in a corner booth of the bar. It had been enough time where stories of what happened there could be discussed as the past, even humorously, as Tony did.

"…and Gibbs was all wild. I mean Abbs, you think he's mad and tough at the Yard. You haven't seen anything. There was this look in his eyes. It could have killed. And he did. The man's a goddamn sniper. Just fuckin' ace. He was like Mark Wahlburg in _Shooter._Round after round. Man! And then we're driving, right? And the C-130…"

Ziva rubbed McGee's thigh as she watched Abby's shocked gaze humoring Tony as he told the story what seemed like the hundredth time. After several drinks, and a good alcohol buzz for all, Abby stood, looking at all three of them.

"Dance!" She demanded, grabbing Tony's hand and pulling him from the booth. Timid McGee was about to protest, but Ziva had jumped up, and pulled him as well into the throng of moving patrons.

* * *

><p>As soon as McGee forgot about everyone around him, and only focused on his three best friends, he let go. All four danced, facing each other, laughing. Ziva swayed her hips, Abby jumped, much like her now famous turkey trot, Tony was swaying pointing in different directions, and McGee half crouched, hands in fists as he did his best John Trovolta from <em>Pulp <em>_Fiction_ swing.

Before McGee knew it, Tony was behind him, climbing up his back. He held the older agent, who perched halfway on his shoulders, an arm around his neck, his other arm moving back and forth in the air. The strobe lights pulsed and the bass bumped. Tony jumped down, pulled McGee over to Abby, and they both sandwiched her in seductive grind. Tony in front of her, bent over, backing himself humorously up into her. Ziva laughed, pulled out her camera, and snapped a few pictures. She then pulled McGee away from the dancing threesome, pulling his hands around her as she scooted back into him. Tony and Abby did the same.

"McTwo-Step! I didn't know you dance!" Tony called.

"I didn't either!" Tim laughed, brushing Ziva's hair out of his face.

Tony jumped around from Abby, pulled Tim off Ziva, grabbing his hands as they began a jumping sort of swing dance (both thoroughly confused as to who was to be leading). Ziva and Abby watched, their belly's hurting with laughter. Even other patrons watched the two agents, who had looks of deadpan seriousness on their faces as the two men danced with each other. Tim released Tony's hands, backed to the edge of their dance circle, then made a motion like casting a fishing rod. As he began to reel in the imaginary fishing pole, Tony (acting like he'd been caught) slowly danced towards his probie. When he reached McGee, He jumped onto McGee's shoulders, who spun him around.

Abby pulled him down, all four grabbing each others hands in a square, dancing closer, then further, then in, then out again, all the while laughing. Tony spread his fingers, sweeping them across his eye while making a goofy face. McGee began a 'robot' like arm movement, passing it to Ziva (unaccustomed to the dance), looked at him curiously. They all laughed, as Tony yelled "Robot Zee-Vah!". He and McGee broke off from the group and began doing separate robots, but mimicking each other.

After some time (and more laughter from the girls), they returned to the group, all four pulling each other into a tight group hug.

"I love you guys!" McGee yelled.

"I love you Probie! And Abby and Ziva."

"Awww team love!" Abby yelled, sweat on her face.

Ziva just smiled wide, pure happiness in her eyes. The group danced around McGee, who jumped repeatedly, pointing in the air with an outstretched arm.

_I love you guys._


	21. Epilogue

**Thank you again, to everyone who read and everyone who reviewed. As I stated, this was my first time writing fanfiction ever, and I LOVED IT! Oh, I plan on writing a bunch more after this one.**

**WARNING: Language**

* * *

><p>McGee's eyes fluttered open. The morning light danced through his blinds. A smile came to his lips, remembering last night. Remembering how much Ziva and Abby had laughed at he and Tony dancing together. <em>We <em>_are __brothers. __And __that__'__s __what __brothers __do._

He rolled over, nuzzling a kiss onto Ziva's cheek. She was snoring. Again. _Eh, __I __can __live __with __that._ McGee chuckled. He scooted in behind her, wrapping his arm around her body. Her arm instinctively clutched his, holding it tighter to her as she sighed in her sleep. McGee breathed in the smell of her hair, and was about to fall asleep when he heard his phone buzzing. _Oh __come __on!_

He carefully rolled over and picked his phone up from his nightstand. Tony. McGee frowned, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. He quietly excused himself from the bedroom and the sleeping Ziva, and flipped open the phone.

"McGee."

"Hey Probie, I'm uh, at that coffee shop right down the street from your place. Can you, uh, meet me there?"

"Uh, yeah, of course Tony. Is everything ok?"

"Yeah. For now. Just get over here as soon as you can ok?"

"Tony, what's-"

"Just come, McGee."

"Ok, ok, on my way."

McGee's heart began to beat faster. _What __could __be __wrong? __Is __Tony __ok? __Does __it __involve __last __night? __We __weren__'__t __even __really __drunk __at __all! __Oh __Tony, __what __did __you __do?_

The agent quickly threw some casual clothes and a jacket on. He then wrote a brief note to Ziva, placing it next to her as he kissed her cheek.

"MummGee." she mumbled in her sleep. He smiled, then headed for the door.

* * *

><p>McGee saw Tony sitting by himself at one of the snow covered tables outside the coffee shop when he arrived. <em>That<em>_'__s __odd, __why __isn__'__t __he __sitting __inside?_

"Hey Tony, what's up."

"Sit. I got you coffee"

"O-okay. Thanks." McGee replied, graciously taking the steaming cup, his green eyes filled with concern.

"Alright McGee, I'll cut to the chase. I got the information on Sharif from Kort. You remember that, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, he said that-"

"I said." Kort exited the coffee shop, casually blowing on the steaming cup. The two agents looked at him carefully.

"Well, before I begin, I must say, that was quite a show back there in Somalia. You two, as well as David, did one hell of a tactical job. Quite impressive. You're welcome McGee, by the way."

McGee nodded, not sure where this was going.

"That information, on Sharif, I gave to DiNozzo here, in turn for a future favor. I knew that you needed resolution McGee, so I provided the opportunity. I provided the outlet, for which you could quell your demons."

"Thanks Kort. Really." McGee, with no sarcasm, genuinely acknowledged.

"You're welcome. I'm sure you're aware of mine and Jethro's relationship. I do something for him, he does something for me."

"Reciprocal- oh whatever the fuck you called it." Tony worriedly spoke.

"Altruism. Yes, DiNozzo."

"So, now we help you."

"Yes, McGee."

McGee sighed. He knew he couldn't be mad at Tony. Tony had just been trying to help, and he did. Tim's demons from Somalia were dead. He was happy. Tim knew that he would have made the same decision as Tony. _I __just __wished __he __would __have __told __me._

"So, Kort, what do we have to do?"

Kort smiled at them, knowing that he had anticipated McGee's service, but could possibly wrangle both of them in. And now, with the current knowledge of them being proficient with assault rifles, they would make a good team.

"Now, it's none too soon, but I need both of you. I can't explain here, for obvious reasons. But this will. Have good day, gentlemen. We'll be in touch."

Kort pulled a manilla envelope from his overcoat and handed it to McGee. It looked just like the one Tony had brought from the park months ago. The bald man turned and hurried off.

The two agents stared at the envelope in silence. Then McGee's phone rang.

"Hey Z."

"Good morning, love. I got your note. Tell Tony I say hi. I'm going for a run, I'll see you when I get back."

"Sounds good Z, see you soon."

McGee closed his phone, realizing his apartment would be empty for at least an hour.

"My place."

"Right."

* * *

><p>The two agents shrugged off their coats in a hurry, both moving over to the coffee table, taking a seat on the coach. McGee took a deep breath as he opened the envelope. Tony bit his fingernails nervously. Although anxiety coursed through his veins, he was happy that whatever Kort's plan was, McGee wasn't going alone. He and McGee would be handling it together. Whatever it was.<p>

Tim pulled the pages from the envelope. On the top was a glossy picture of a sinister, bald man with dark sunglasses. Written in marker at the bottom spelled: 'Leonid Mikhailov, Borneo, circa. Sept 2011.' Below that photo was one of another man. He had wispy blonde hair and tiny spectacles. 'Eckhardt Fuchs, Borneo, circa Sept 2011.'

Beneath the photo were black and white areal photos of some mountainous jungle region. Further below those, were photos of soldiers in vehicles within the jungles moving crates around ancient ruins. Large cables ran from generators into the openings of what looked like ancient pyramids or temples built into the mountainside. In every photo, Leonid and Eckhardt were circled in red ink.

Further down the stack of photos were pages of information. Longitude and latitude coordinates, encryption data, dollar figures, maps with lines of movement of the group, and finally a photo of a cement bunker, sunk deep into the side of a jungle mountainside. Soldiers stood guard, as thick moss, vines, and vegetation thickly camouflaged the entrance to the underground compound.

Finally, with a deep sigh, McGee put down the photos, turning to his anxious partner. To Tony's shock, McGee had the slight possibility of a smile on his lips."

"McGee?"

"We're gotta do this Tony. But." McGee held up one finger.

"We're gonna do this together."

"Damn straight we are."

McGee nodded. True, he was scared, but with Tony at his side, hell, they could do anything.

Tony placed his hand on his best friend's shoulder and gave it a strong squeeze. McGee looked at Tony and the two agents smiled grimly at each other.

"We're going to Borneo, Probie."

"Yeah. We're going to Borneo."

**The End**

* * *

><p><strong><strong>**Thank you all for reading! I hope you liked it. And yes, obvious sequel setup haha. I'm still working on the story ideas of it, but it will happen. A big thanks to Gottahvemyncis, Precious Pup and Camry72 for the consistent reviews and encouragement! It helped a ton (seriously, thanks). And with that, I bid thee adieu!**

** - Papillon**


	22. The Fall Index: Chapter 1

**Hello Everyone! So, although it has taken me a while longer to start a sequel to The Pyrrhic Clause than I intended, here is the first chapter. Please let me know what you think of it! And feel free to let others know ;)**

**A/N: I do not own NCIS, the characters, the desks they use, their clothes, their sandwiches etc. **

**WARNING: Contains Language.**

* * *

><p>Tim McGee tapped feverishly through fingerless black gloves at the computer, a black skullcap low on his head. He was seated at a creaky card table in a run down apartment that was littered with empty bottles and trash. Rats scurried to and fro, their shadows transforming them into enormous sizes on the walls. Chinese symbols in spray paint adorned the inside of the condemned one bedroom apartment. It was on a top level floor of an apartment building in the Sham Shui Po District in Hong Kong, China. Rain pattered against the cracked windows in droves, as the neon lights of the slums reflected glaringly against McGee's eyes.<p>

"Just a couple more levels." The agent whispered to himself, his submachine gun lay on the table next to the laptop he was working on. His fingers typed away as levels of encryption fell. _Access. I need access. I need to slow their operation. I need to plant this virus. They need to stop._

***ACCESS DENIED***

_Dammit! Maybe this will work._

***ACCESS DENIED* **

The letters blinked menacingly at him as sweat dripped off his nose. _Their gonna be here soon. We need to get out of here!_ He continued typing, now looking for a backdoor entrance through the weakened firewall. The deep greens of the screen flickered along against his pupils. _Damn, that Russian runs a tight ship._

"McGee! McGee, I can hear them coming down the halls! We gotta book it! You done?" Tony DiNozzo, clad in jeans, combat boots, a tactical vest over a tight black t-shirt, stood in front of the door of the apartment, his assault rifle slung around his back as he looked through the peephole.

"Yeah yeah, almost there. It would have helped if the Agency could have bought us a larger window of time."

The CIA, in assisting the two agent's operation, had infiltrated Mikhailov's firewall with a bug, that would render it weakened. Weak enough for McGee to plant the virus. But the program was designed to reset the firewall security systems every five minutes. A five minute window. It was their only shot. And McGee only had seconds left.

"Seriously Tim, and you know I only use your first name when I'm serious. We need to get the fuck out of here!"

"I know I know! I'm almost there." With unbridled focus, his fingers whisked over the keyboard.

"37 seconds McGee." Tony glanced at his watch.

Harsh Russian voices came from the hall through the door. Loud thumping of boots, and clanking of firearms. The voices got louder, and the light of a flashlight replaced the dull blinking of the suspended bulb the cascaded under the door from the hall.

"Shit shit shit Probie!"

***ACCESS GRANTED***

"Got it!" McGee raised his arms in victory.

"Okaaay…" McGee typed a few more codes of data, drawing the virus from the flashdrive in the side of the computer and into Mikhailov's coding.

"Good planted, lets go!" McGee called, closing the computer, sliding it into his backpack, and slinging it onto his back. He picked up his submachine gun, cocked it, and looked to Tony, who had his ear against the door.

Suddenly, a hole ripped through center of the door, right beside Tony's head. Cordite lingered in as the agents' ears rang. They heard a shotgun being reracked and the harsh Russian voices begin again.

"Probie! Plan B!" Tony stumbled, fingers in his ears. He immediately regained his focus and tossed a fragmentation grenade through the hole in the door that the shotgun made as he ran to McGee.

"What's plan-"

"Follow me!" Tony shot out the glass of the side of the room McGee was working in, leaping through it and onto the rusty fire escape ladder outside. McGee looked in wonder. The ladder was at least five feet from the window, and Tony had already made his way onto the roof of the building below them and was running across it, looking back. When McGee heard the grenade and the Russian cries and cursing, he took a running start, and leapt.

* * *

><p>He made his way down the ladder, tracing Tony's steps across the flooded rooftop. <em>Good thing the computer is waterproof.<em> _Hope it's bulletproof too._

He caught up to Tony, who had leapt onto the balcony of an apartment across an alley. McGee followed suit, realizing that looking down was not the smartest idea. As he passed over the alley, he couldn't even see the bottom. It looked like a square well, the bottom most likely littered with garbage. Maybe even a body or two. They had to be at least ten stories high. And if the fall didn't kill you, the rats or the Russians would.

Mcgee landed on the balcony as Tony kicked the door in, eliciting the cries of a Chinese family, startled in the night.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Tony whispered as he ran through the dirty, crowded apartment, throwing open the front door, closely followed by McGee.

They sprinted through the hallways. They were filthy; rotting garbage, food, graffiti, rats. Oh, the rats. They ducked under hanging wires and leaking sewer pipes and splashed through puddles of god knows what. Weaving their way through the apartment halls, Tony finally turned. There was a window at the end of the hall.

Tony grinned. _Must be at the North side of the building, above an alley. Can't touch the ground yet, still a few blocks to go. I don't want to spend the rest of my days in some commie gulag. _

Upon reaching the window, he used the nose of his gun to break the glass, clearing the large pieces from the frame. The rain buzzed by noisily. McGee turned his head as the lonesome notes of an erhu caught his ear. A baby cried somewhere in the dirty apartment complex as the hanging bulbs flickered like some mad dream. Tony surveyed the jump.

"Alright Probie, you or me first?"

"I'll go, you cover. You're going first in everything."

"Oh-ho McEnvy. Be my guest. By the way, the next rooftop looks about 15 feet down, and 8 feet out."

McGee gulped, took a glance out the window, immediately regretted it, then backed down the hall for a running start. Tony crouched by the window, raising his rifle to be sure no one was following them. McGee began to sprint. At the last moment, he crouched and leapt through the window, leading with his feet.

As he fell, he saw how beautifully dark and romantic the Sham Shui Po District was. Large neon signs in Chinese characters were suspended haphazardly at various altitudes about the countless buildings that surrounded them. The different bright colors made gorgeous paintings in the rain as it fell, as well as the puddles. _Damn, puddles! I'm falling!_

McGee hit the roof, rolled, and finally skidded to a stop on his back. He immediately stood, held his weapon, and checked himself for pain. _Wow, didn't even sprain an ankle. _

In an instant, Tony came flying through the window. He landed in the same spot McGee had, and rolled unceremoniously to his partners feet.

"Woooo Probie that was great! We gotta-" Tony was laughing, but paused when he heard a creak. The two agents looked at each other curiously. Then, the roof under them gave way, and they fell through.

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><p><strong>So, that is the first chapter! I hope you like it and feel it's got a promising start. The second chapter (and following chapters) will explain how our boys got where they are now. Reviews are always loved :)<strong>


	23. The Fall Index: Chapter 2

**Hey all! I'm gonna post the second chapter to The Fall Index onto the backside of this story, just in case people read The Pyrrhic Clause and want to know if there's a sequel going on. I will also be posting The Fall Index as a different fic, and this will be the last chapter of The Fall Index I'll put here. **

**Also, (not advertising too much ;) ) but if you like this story, I wrote a couple McGiva oneshots called "Window Seat?" and "You Are Not Don Juan Triumphant". They're my first shots at oneshots, so feedback, constructive criticism is welcomed. **

**WARNING: Language**

**I do not own NCIS, or NICS, or CISN... blah blah blah**

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><p><strong>3 Months Earlier<strong>

Tim McGee tossed in his bed. Images of himself kept flashing across his eyelids. Images of himself, white faced with black circles around his eyes. He watched, as if from a third person perspective, as he walked across an abandoned shipwrecked vessel. It was enormous, like a naval destroyer. It was perched precariously on a frozen mountain range, snow swirling about. Thankfully, in this nightmare, he was wearing what appeared to be the gear of a turn-of-the-century mountaineer. Snow goggles were perched upon his forehead as he wound his way around the vessel. Searching.

_It's here. I know it's here._

He yanked open an icy door and held up an old lantern, lighting the inside of the vessel. It had obviously been there for some time. Belching from it the smell of decades of disuse. Despite finding shelter from the storm, the inside of the ship as just as cold as it was on the outside. But it was a still cold, a silent cold, a dead cold.

He walked carefully, stepping through doorways and down steel hallways. Finally, somewhere near the aft of the ship, deep within its hull, he spied a door down the hall. It was ajar, a soft yellow light filtering through. As he got closer, he heard a familiar 'shush shush shush' sound. He tiptoed to the door, pushed it open, and stepped into the room. It was identical to Gibbs basement.

Within the room was the wooden frame of a little boat beside a workbench. Tools were neatly ordered on the workbench, as well as a mason jar of bourbon. McGee watched as a man, not fitting the description of Gibbs, clad in a U.S.M.C. Sweater and grey sweatpants sanded one of the boat's wooden ribs.

Shush shush shush.

"Gibbs?"

"Nope."

"W-who are you?"

McGee couldn't see the man's face, as it was turned away, but upon hearing the question, the man straightened up, and turned. McGee tensed. He was looking at himself. _Why am I in Gibbs' basement, dressed like him, and building a boat?_

"Surprised, McGee?" The other McGee asked, making no facial expression (much like Gibbs).

"Yeah, well umm, what are you doing here?"

"Was gonna ask you the same thing."

"Well, umm, I get it. You are me. But why aren't you Gibbs? Gibbs should be making a boat."

"Yes, McGee, why aren't you Gibbs?" the impostor asked.

"I, well, I don't know. Because I'm McGee."

"But I'm McGee."

"And you're dressed like Gibbs."

"No." The impostor stated bluntly, pointing the sander at the real McGee. "You're dressed like Gibbs."

McGee looked down at his clothes. They (as are occasional in dreams), had completely changed wardrobe somehow. He was now donning the same gillie suit and equipment Gibbs had worn in Somalia. The real McGee looked questioningly at the impostor McGee.

He continued sanding, but began blurting out phrases nonsensically.

"Grab. Gear. We gotta dead marine. DiNozzo. Ziver. We don't negotiate with terrorists. Rule 12. Rule 34. Rule 3. Rule 17. Rule 51. Today, McGee!"

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><p>McGee woke with a start. He had tangled himself so thoroughly in his bed sheets that his arms were flush against his sides. <em>It was just a nightmare. It was just a nightmare. <em>Finally unwinding himself from the covers, McGee sat up, rubbing his eyes. He glanced at his phone. 7:32 am. _That's not too bad. Got a good five hours of sleep this time._

He was about to roll out of bed, when a warm hand grasped his arm. He turned with a start, then smiled, seeing the groggy Israeli woman looking at him, sleep still heavy in her eyes.

"Mummf?" she huffed as she pulled him back into bed, nestling her cheek up into his neck. Tim smiled, stroking her hair as she kissed his neck lightly. He planted a kiss on the top of her head, immediately picking strands of hair from his lips.

"Z, I gotta go work out with Tony. We're meeting at the track at 8:30."

Ziva looked at him, her eyebrows low with suspicion.

"But it's Saturday! Tim, why are you working out so much? I mean, I am not complaining, but usually a man works out to get a woman's attention Then stops once he has the woman. You are opposite, no?"

McGee squeezed her. "Just wanna look good for you."

With that, he tore himself tenderly from her grasp as she let out a frustrated sigh, pulling the covers around her and rolling over.

McGee knew that was not completely a lie. He did feel that, with this beautiful woman with him, he needed to make himself more physically impressive. It's just the way men are. Compared to other men, he felt inadequate, even though he knew that that was not the deciding factor in their relationship. Ziva would never end the relationship because McGee didn't have an eight-pack. So, yes, McGee did want to physically impress her, but he left out the second half. That Tony and he would be needing the stamina. The training. The strength. Kort had said so. With that he threw on some athletic clothes, tying tight some running shoes, and headed out the door.

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><p>He walked slowly, his hoodie pulled low over his eyes as light snow danced across his face. It was only a few blocks to the local high school, and Tony would probably be there already. As if on cue, his phone rang.<p>

"McGee."

"Probetastic, how's it going?"

"Good Tony, just heading to the track. Where are you?"

"Oh, you know, been in the parking lot for a bit. You know the car heater is a wonderful invention. We could just-"

"No Tony. We are not skipping the workout." Tony groaned.

"We're doing bleachers today aren't we?"

"Yeah Tony."

"And the pushup pyramid thing?"

"Yep."

"And the pullups?"

"Yeah."

"Fine McDrill-Sergeant."

"I'll meet you on the track, okay Tony?"

"Blarg."

McGee shut the phone, throwing it into the duffel he carried over his shoulder. When they had begun working out together, Tony had beat him in almost everything (minus long distance running). But, as time went on and their training became more rigorous McGee began to see it as he saw many things in life. He researched the functions of the body, the adaptations of muscles, bones, even hormones and metabolism as a result of exercise. While he had been fairly fit, he had never been in good shape. McGee saw working out as a case study. A way to observe the physiological changes that he had read about, only in his own body. It fascinated him the way the body would change based on external stimuli. He had read how a university researcher had tested a group of runners on a treadmill, while simultaneously having them complete cognitive puzzles, tasks, and visual acuity tests. With increased physiological stress during training, the time it took the runners to complete the tests decreased. Once McGee realized the connection between body power and brain power, he was all in. And Tony hated it.

The older agent was quite fit, but he was a fan of comfortable things. He was a fan of sleeping in, of staying seated, of a warm car interior. He was a fan of the hot air blowing out of the vents of his car. He was a fan of the idea of kidnapping McGee and going to get an omelet. Tony took a sip of his coffee, holding the cup with both hands, the warmth almost burning his palms. _Damn you, Timothy McLance Armstrong. I swear if you don't let us get an omelet I'm going to-._

Tony was woken from his thoughts as McGee rapped a knuckle on his window. Tony grew a large smile and pointed to the passenger seat. McGee shook his head.

"Let's go Tony!" Tim yelled through the glass.

"I want an omelet!"

"Tony…"

"Omelet!"

"Tony!"

"Omelet!"

McGee shook his head and turned, heading towards the track. Tony watched him, disappointed, but in admiration. He quickly hopped out of the car and jogged after the younger man.

"Fuck McGee, it's gotta be below zero out here! With this type of training we could be crab fishermen!" McGee was silent as he tossed his duffel onto the track and began stretching.

"Ok McGoo, what is it today?"

"One lap around the track, moderate intensity, then bleachers five times, then five pushups, then 5 pullups. Then another lap, five bleachers, ten pushups, ten pullups. Then another lap, five bleachers-".

"Fifteen pushups, fifteen pullups. I got it." Tony interrupted, groaning. He shook his head and began mimicking McGee's stretches. They caught eyes, and Tony noticed McGee looking at him seriously.

"Look Tony, whatever we gotta do for Kort, I don't want to be winded. I don't want physical performance to limit us. Or worse, get us killed. It's just that… I care about you Tony, and we gotta be at our best shape."

"I know I know McGee. Let's just get this done. Omelet's after?"

"Sure Tony." McGee smiled at his friend and began a slow jog along the track. Tony pulled himself together, and jogged after him. _I sure as hell hope whatever Kort has us do isn't this bad._

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><p><strong><em>So<em> as I said before, I will be posting this fic seperate from the Pyrrhic Clause, and invite you to check it out! If you like. Also (as stated above, I wrote my first oneshots today. **They're called "Window Seat?" and "You Are Not Don Juan Triumphant". I hope you enjoy!****


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